These Guarded Walls
by GoneDrake
Summary: Bellamy's nightmares are getting worse as survival gets harder for The 100, and Clarke can't understand why his pain is having such an effect on her. The story of finding love amidst chaos. Lots of Bellarke angst, rated T for fluff and gore.
1. Adumbrate

_As Bellamy paced one of the Ark's main corridors, he couldn't help but feel that something was off. The usual mechanical hum that he'd learned to ignore was absent, and the air was still, no draft coming from the large vent system. He placed a hand on his gun – a comforting gesture, if anything – and tried to shake the feeling._

_It was always a little eerie at midnight. The ship being made of metal caused echoes to travel a mile a minute, forming repetitive whispers that scared many of the younger children. He smiled at the thought of Octavia as a kid, scurrying to and from the washroom to her hiding place, terrified of the 'ghosts' that lived on the ship. It'd taken him years to explain that what she thought were ghosts were just noises made from sound vibrating off the walls._

_Always trying to protect his little sister._

_A sudden crash startled him. Bellamy yanked the gun from his holster and raised it, snapping the safety off and placing a finger on the trigger. The sound had come from a near-empty storage room to his left, filled with a few filtration parts and water circulation equipment. Anyone lurking in the shadows at night was definitely not supposed to be in there._

_"Hey!" Bellamy hissed, stepping in front of the metal doors and flashing his card. The panel lit up with a green light and the doors opened, revealing a – surprisingly – empty room. He took a careful step inside and scanned his surroundings, seeing nothing out of the ordinary._

_The doors closed behind him with a loud whoosh._

_Bellamy whirled around and froze with fear. He was face to face with the Chancellor. That is, what was left of the man's rotting corpse. His mouth was agape in an unsettling way, blue, cracked lips parting to reveal broken teeth and a swollen, bloody tongue. His skin had began to decompose, curling upwards as if someone has gone at his face will a potato peeler. It was dry and flaky but moist underneath, oozing with a muddy green pus that rolled down his cheeks. And his eyes. Christ, his eyes. The sockets had been cleaned out, leaving nothing but gaping, black holes. Bellamy could see the flesh sagging at the back, clinging to bits of bloody flesh and stringy, veiny matter that had once been attached to his eyeballs. Thick, gelatinous blood pooled in the bottom of the hollows, leaking in a way that made it look like he was weeping._

_The Chancellor wrapped his bony fingers around Bellamy's wrist and dug his nails into the boy's skin, twisting so that he dropped his gun with a clang._

_Bellamy tasted bile as the rotting stench of pus and decay filled his nostrils."You're dead." He choked, struggling. 'You're fucking dead! I killed you!'_

_The Chancellor's lips parted in a feral grin, and his yellow teeth glinted beneath the Ark's dim lighting. He raised his hand to reveal a large abdominal wound; right where Bellamy had shot him. "Are you sure about that?" He purred, voice low and guttural. "Are you sure about that, Bellamy Blake?"_

_Bellamy ripped free and stumbled backwards, gagging. The man's breath smelled like waste and feces, with a sickening sweet undertone. He tried to stand but his legs felt like lead; no matter how much he willed them, they wouldn't move. He pushed himself backwards and frantically fumbled for his gun, eventually feeling cold metal beneath his fingertips._

_"Does your sister know what you did, Bellamy?" The Chancellor hissed, swaying towards Bellamy with his arms dangling limp at his sides. Clots dislodged themselves from his mangled skin and splattered against the floor, filled with little white, wriggling bits. Maggots. "Do you think she wants a KILLER watching over her? How can you protect **her**, when you can't even protect yourself?"_

_"I **can** protect her!" Bellamy shouted, anger joining horror and fear in an adrenaline fueled trio. His heart was beating like rapidfire. "That's all I care about – protecting her!"_

_The Chancellor cocked his neck to the side. "Are you sure about that?"_

_"Pretty sure."_

_Bellamy raised his gun and shot the man in the head._

And with that, Bellamy woke up.

He sat upright, momentarily confused. It took him a few seconds for the memories to come flooding back – the one hundred teens sent to Earth, the crash, the camp they set up. The grounders. His sister. Clarke. The Chancellor. Everything.

His clothes were drenched in sweat and his hair was plastered across his forehead. He waited for the relief to come as it usually did upon realizing that his nightmares weren't real, but his heart continued to beat erratically. It seemed to be speeding up, and he suddenly couldn't breathe. It felt like his lungs were constricting. He sprang to his feet and grabbed his shoes, pushing his way out from the tent and into the cool, night air. Stumbling awkwardly, he managed to deek out of the camp and into the forest unnoticed. He checked behind him as he ran, unsure of where he was going but knowing that he couldn't stay.

Bellamy ran until his lungs burned. He reached for a nearby tree and collapsed against it, feeling skin scrape the rough bark as his knees gave out and he sank to the ground, panting. The whole forest was layered with a damp carpet of moss that seeped into his pants, moist and muddy. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to catch his breath, a pressure building inside his ribs that threatened to break free. It felt like it would tear open his body and claw its way out into open air.

His throat felt ready to rip open. His muscles ached and his stomach cramped; he suddenly lurched to the side and vomited, dry heaves racking his body as nothing came out. He coughed and wiped his lips, feeling dizzy, then sank back to the cold, wet ground. He expected to feel a calm wash over him as it usually did after the adrenaline rush, but it only worsened. He felt like he was going to explode.

Or cry.

He pressed his gloved fist to his mouth, digging his fingers into his cheeks as pressure built behind his eyes. G_et a hold of yourself._ He hissed, angry and frantic. _Stop it. Stop it!_ He grit his teeth together and clenched his hands so tightly his nails bit into skin. Nothing killed him more than the throbbing that pulsed through his entire body, telling him there was only one way to relieve the pain. He fought the pressure as best he could... but it was inevitable. He was going to break down.

He crouched behind the tree, face pressed to his knees and hand clamped firmly over his mouth, screaming silently as sobs began to rack his body. They were out of his control, rolling through him like waves. He punched at the ground in desperation. He was weak, pathetic. What kind of man broke down like this? He hated the emotions running through him and burning his veins like fire.

Anger at the council, for sending Octavia someplace so dangerous, for forcing her into hiding, for killing their mother. Anger at Clarke and Finn and Jasper and all the idiots hellbent on honor and righteousness and fighting Bellamy every step of the way. Anger at Charlotte, for choosing death above life. Anger at himself, for everything he'd done and everyone he'd failed. And shame. Shame lay on top of everything, like a layer of acid burning a hole straight through his chest.

"Bellamy?"

He froze at Clarke's voice, eyes widening. His heart rate accelerated. She couldn't have seen him sneak out of camp, no way in hell. And she definitely couldn't see him now, crouched in the shadows. If he stayed where he was and stayed silent, she'd walk past him and move along with whatever she was doing.

_She called your name, idiot._ His inner voice argued. _She knows you're here._

He held his breath as she came closer. He'd rather have confronted death at that moment. There was no way she wouldn't notice his trembling, and it would destroy him. He couldn't let her see him cowering like a little baby.

A twig snapped a few feet away. Fuck.

Bellamy took a deep breath and stood.

Sure enough, there stood Clarke, only slightly visible beneath the dark canopy. She had a flashlight in hand and her chest rose and fell a little faster than normal, indicating that she'd been running. Her blonde curls were scattered wildly around her face and her eyes were wide with surprise. He met her gaze and she was confronted by a sharp glare, complete with set jaw and narrowed brows. "What do you want?"

"Bellamy, what are you doing out here?"

He frowned. "I could ask you the same question, princess," He said, glaring. His hands still shook and he wasn't sure he could handle her. She had a talent for asking the kind of questions that hit just the right nerve, and on any other day, he'd be right on par with her snippy remarks and sarcasm. But he was tired. "Isn't it a little late for you to be out of your comfy little bed?"

"Cut the crap, Bellamy," She shot back, taking a step towards him. Her arms were crossed against her chest in a defensive position. "I saw you leave camp and take off running."

"So what?" He asked. "I can go as I please, in case you forgot. We can ALL go as we please. There may be some new rules on the ground, but we're free to come and go."

Bellamy heard her sigh. "I'm not challenging your freedom, idiot." She ran a hand through her hair and sighed again, looking annoyed. "Is that all you ever think about? Whether I'm gonna knock you down from the throne you've made for yourself?" She took another step forward, and this time, he took a step back. "You may be fooling everyone else, you may even be fooling yourself. But you're not fooling me, Bellamy. I know you're scared. You're just as scared as all of us. _You_ just won't admit it."

He felt anger fill his veins. "Why did you follow me, Clarke?" He growled. His voice shook but he couldn't tell if it was from rage or something else. "To lecture me? You place yourself in everyone's business and think you have the right to demand answers? What did you expect to find? A meeting? A rebellion? A sacrifice? Or do you just like following people at all hours of the night?"

"Bellamy," She interrupted, reaching for his shoulder. "I-"

"Don't touch me." He snapped, recoiling. His lips curled over his teeth and he lowered his voice to a hiss. "Why did you follow me, Clarke?"

She stilled and raised her head, eyes blazing. They were bright blue beneath the moonlight. "I was worried about you." She said simply. "But I guess I was wrong."

And with that, she turned and left.

The beads of sweat on his forehead were cold in the night air and he shivered, tensing into himself. He listened to his pounding heartbeat and waited until she was gone before sinking back to the ground, closing his eyes, and succumbing to the cold. The feeling of shock and shame were overwhelmed by fatigue, and he felt himself falling asleep.

* * *

Clarke pretended to walk off, but instead, she doubled back as quietly as possible. She didn't know why she was bothering to waste her energy on Bellamy, of all people. He didn't even want her help. It was damp and rainy and she'd been nice and cozy in her tent. There were few things in the world that would've made her leave such comfy, relaxing burrow of warmth. But she'd caught a glimpse of his face before he stepped beyond the fence, and it had contained such raw desperation that she'd felt her feet moving before her mind had decided to follow him.

She watched from her position in the brush and saw Bellamy kick the dirt in frustration, then sink to the ground, shaking with anger. No, not anger. He was... oh my god, he was trembling. He wasn't crying, but it looked like it was taking every bit of strength not to. And it was taking every bit of hers not to go and confront him once more. She knew how he'd take it. He'd get mad, he'd yell, he might even punch her. She didn't want to wake everyone up. She was probably wrong. He wasn't upset - he was just cold. Cold and pissed off. Because of her.

_You're lying to yourself,_ her inner voice sheered. _You know he's hiding something, something that's making him upset. You're just trying to deny that it's making you upset, too._

Clarke silenced it. She didn't feel sorry for Bellamy - he deserved every bit of pain he dished out. He was the reason Wells had been killed in the first place. He'd created Murphy and the rest of the Lost Boy troupe that everyone seemed to follow. He'd wanted control, and maybe losing the reigns a little was what was making him falter. Why should she care? He'd made her look like a fool and her efforts to keep them all alive even more difficult.

But deep down, she _knew_ that she was lying to herself. She didn't know how she felt about him, but he was still a human being, and she had trouble watching any human in pain, no matter the reason.

Rubbing her forehead, she finally retreated back to camp, not bothering to turn the flashlight back on. She could walk the forest with both eyes closed; it felt like it'd been forever since they landed. She wondered how her mom was doing - if she was mourning over her daughter's death or if she'd moved on like every other council member who'd decided that throwing one hundred kids to their death was a reasonable decision.

It was thoughts of death and destruction that lulled her to sleep that night. They were becoming more familiar than anything else on earth.

* * *

If you liked this, please review so I can know to write more! Thanks! You're all so awesome!


	2. Trigger

Sorry for the delay - I just finished my exams and thus my first year of university! Woo! Definitely pumped to have more time to write (and watch tv, of course). This part isn't the longest but I just wanted to give you something to let you know I hadn't dropped the story c: Thank you so much for your kind reviews!

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Clarke woke up to the sound of a scratching on her tent flap. She yawned and sat up. "Wha-?" she asked, sleep coating her voice. It felt later than usual; she'd probably caught up on the sleep missed due to roaming the forest at night. "What time is it?"

Finn poked his head into the tent and gave her a goofy grin. She couldn't help but grin back. His shaggy brown hair had fallen into his eyes and he wore an over-sized t-shirt that he'd obviously scrounged from one of his many ancient caches.

"Sleeping Beauty's finally awake," he said, rolling his eyes. She raised her eyebrows in response. "It's noon, princess," he chided, opening the rest of the tent flap. "We thought you'd died or something. Has roughing it been too hard on you?"

Clarke threw a bottle at him but he caught it easily. "Late night, you dolt." she said, stepping out of her sleeping area and out into the center of the camp. The bonfire from last night was still sending little wisps of smoke into the now blue sky. She saw Octavia and Jasper sitting to her right, deep in conversation about something. Monty was likely still in the ship, working on her bracelet and trying to make contact with the Ark via two way radio. She scanned the rest of the camp, noting that there were less people around than the night before.

"Where's everyone else?" she asked, taking a step towards the forest and craning her neck. She couldn't help thinking of Bellamy. "Did another party go off to gather supplies?"

Finn nodded. "Yeah, Murphy gathered ten or so people and they went to see if they could hunt something within the perimeter. Some others left to get water, and I think a boy said something about getting some proper toilet paper." He shrugged his shoulders. "Personally, I don't mind the leaves."

She felt like her eyes rolled much too often. "Is, uh, Bellamy around?" She asked as nonchalantly as possible. He didn't seem to be at the camp, and he was usually the center of attention. "I need to talk to him."

"No idea," Finn said. He raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. "Secret leader meeting needed to be taken care of?"

Clarke ignored him. She frowned at the tree line and told herself that she was being ridiculous. He had obviously come back to camp last night. Maybe he'd found one of the numerous hatches that Finn seemed to pop out of his rear and spent the night there. Maybe he'd gone off on his own to find supplies; it's not like he hadn't done that dozens of times. But what if something had caught up with him? She felt her breath hitch in her throat. There were no many unknown, dangerous things on the ground, ones that even Bellamy couldn't predict. Who knew what was in the forest at night?

She shook her head in frustration. Who cared if he got eaten by a two-headed tiger? Maybe it'd puncture a hole in his head and some of the hot air would escape. Maybe it'd stop him from being such an arrogant-

"Hey, princess!" Clarke spun around and came face to face with Bellamy, looking at her with his usual stone face and irritated expression. "Everyone else is looking for supplies or taking care of tasks; you look like you just got up. Are you slacking off now that there are rules?"

"She's been with me," Finn said, stepped in between them before Clarke could open her mouth. "We were taking a break to get water, which, last time I checked, wasn't illegal." He did a once over of Bellamy and frowned. "What the hell happened to you? You look like shit."

Clarke looked at Bellamy and realized Finn was right. The guy had dirt and moss caked all over his clothing, which still looked wet and cold. There was a small tear in the side of his leather jacket. His hair was matted as a bird's nest, skin smeared with grime, and it could have been her imagination, but his eyes looked red-rimmed and a little puffy. It was like he'd just crawled out of a cave made of pine trees.

She heard him bristle. "No worse than you, spacewalker." He said, turning his head to Clarke so that their eyes met. She came face to face with a brick wall, expression locked with ice. His unspoken glare dared her to say something. "I suggest you two finish your water break and do something to help. Food's running low and we're encroaching on grounder territory."

"Sure thing, boss," Finn muttered, glancing at Clarke. "We were just about to get going, right?"

"Sure." She agreed, watching as Bellamy walked away and towards his tent. Something seemed off, but she wasn't about to press. She was determined to shake every thought of Bellamy Blake from her mind and focus on the tasks that needed to be done.

Tasks like filling water.

"Let's fill the packs," she told Finn, reaching for a few makeshift canteens and throwing them over her shoulder, followed by an empty barrel that had once been broken fuselage. She grabbed her knife as well, just in case they came across an animal on the way. Food was food. "If we leave now we can be back for dinner."

Finn grinned. "We could always have a picnic," He started, reaching for his containers as well. "What's a better way to enjoy the day than roasting some fresh rabbit and keeping it all to ourselves?"

Clarke laughed. "With your hunting skills, we'd be eating caterpillars, at best." She started towards the forest before she could see Finn making faces.

* * *

The two walked for an hour before they reached the stream, used as a marker for indicating what was grounders' territory and what wasn't. It was hard to tell exactly what was off limits since they'd never actually communicated with one, but Jasper had been speared as soon as he'd crossed the river, so they weren't taking any chances. Crossing the river was a no-go. They'd also been avoiding the lake since Octavia's encounter with the large reptilian, so the stream was their main source of water. No one had reported any radiation poisoning symptoms yet, so it seemed safe. Even without boiling.

One of these days, Clarke was determined to follow the river upstream and find its source. But that could take days, maybe weeks, and there wasn't much reason to do so beyond curiosity. Mount Weather was their only feasible destination for food and supplies, but it was centered in grounder territory. They knew so little about Earth and what had become of it after 97 years.

Finn splashed some water in his face and stretched out on one of the flat rocks, closing his eyes and sighing as bright sunlight bathed his skin. Clarke bent down and cupped her hands, taking a sip of the cool water. Her reflection wiggled as the current moved, distorting her curls and slight scowl. It had been a while since she'd washed her hair and she could see it in the water.

"Not enough mirrors back home, princess?" Finn asked, propping his head up on an elbow. He had a coy look on his face that, despite invoking massive irritation, always made her laugh. "You'd think you would have had dozens back on the Ark, one for each room."

Clarke raised an eyebrow and tried to look annoyed, but truth was, she was enjoying the light. The past few days had been dark and rainy, and the sun was finally beginning to peak out of the clouds. Every inch of the forest was glowing. Natural warmth was something new for them all; living in a world full of artificial air and machine-regulated atmospheric temperature made it impossible to imagine the feeling of Earth. The pressure before a storm, filling your nostrils with heaviness and weighing every so slightly on your skin. The warmth of the sun's rays, causing your eyes to squeeze shut but giggle in pleasure at the same time. Rain, landing on your face drop by drop, each a different temperature, different size, different width. God, she loved being outside. She'd dreamed of the outside for her entire life, and she was finally able to feel the dirt between her toes and the fresh air in her lungs.

She turned to Finn, eyes still closed beneath the sun. "Do you think this is going to last?" she asked softly, thinking of her mother and the thousands of people above, unaware of their ticking clock. They'd sent the teens to Earth only a week or so ago, but she'd noticed the influx of sick people in the med bays. Her father's predictions had never proven to be completely accurate. "Do you think they'll start sending more people?"

He sat thoughtful for a moment, then let out a slow breath. "Honestly," he said, meeting her eyes. "I think you need to stop worrying about everyone else and start worrying about yourself." He stood from the rock and took a step towards her. The brief sadness she'd seen in his gaze had been replaced with a fierce determination. "You gotta loosen up a bit, Clarke. There's no way to know what's going on up there without contacting the Ark, and Monty's doing the best we can. We're all doing the best we can. You have to stop thinking about everything that could be happening up there, and start thinking about what's happening to us. Right here. Right now."

"You don't think I'm doing that?" She asked, irritated. She didn't need to be scolded. She was only thinking about why they'd been sent to Earth in the first place! Not only were half the wristbands inactive and disabled, no one thought to mention the disadvantage they had on Earth without the adults. Without supplies. No books, reference materials, electronics, medical supplies. They were all living in a fantasy world. "While Bellamy and the others are off living it up like one big party, I've been doing everything I can to ration our reserves and keep things from going completely crazy. It's all about what happening at this very moment. Sue me if I'm wondering about the thousands of people DYING from oxygen deprivation right at this very moment."

Finn held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, you got me. Worrying is good. You win." He swayed over to a nearby tree and grabbed one of the lower branches, using his strength to pull himself up and onto his elbows. He raised his knees and was soon sitting on a thick pine branch. "Show me that you can have a little fun. Forget everything, just for a second. Climb a tree."

Clarke folded her arms across her chest in indignation. Finn was capable of being serious when needed, but god, did he rarely choose to be. She was starting to suspect that he hid behind his joviality in fear of confrontation and revealing actual emotion. Just like Bellamy did with his guarded walls. Ways to protect themselves from being hurt.

Ugh. Men.

"You coming?" Finn asked, already on the fourth branch and counting. He dipped abruptly to swing from his knees, probably ripping his pants in the process. Pine splinters were unforgiving. "Not that I mind staying here all day, but King Bellamy might try and skimp on our share of the fried cougar."

"Eh," Clarke sighed, resolve wavering. Thinking of Bellamy just made her want to do everything she could to piss him off. Including having fun. "If I get bitten by a mutant squirrel, I'm blaming you."

Finn winked. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

With that, Clarke grabbed on to the closest branch and pulled herself up, ignoring Finn's outstretched hand. She crawled higher and higher before settling on a V-shaped arrangement, which allowed both arms and legs to be propped up comfortably. Resting her head against the tree trunk, she grinned. The entire valley was visible from up there.

Finn landed next to her with a thump. "Nice, ain't it?"

She couldn't help but agree. From where they sat, miles and miles of forest swayed in the distance. She could see the river, the lake, the mountains on the horizon... even residual smoke from their campfire.

He pointed towards one of the large mountains. "That's Mount Weather, right?"

Clarke nodded. "Yup. Surrounded by grounders."

"We have to do something about those."

She rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder. Luckily it didn't knock him off balance. "If only they weren't armed with giant spears and god knows what else."

"We could take 'em." Finn laughed.

"You and what army?" Clarke leaned back on the branch and grabbed a pinecone, smiling. "I'm assuming there could be hundreds, if not thousands of them."

Expecting Finn's bravado response, she felt herself grinning. But when he was silent, she turned and saw him gazing off into the distance, eyebrows furrowed. His expression had become more serious.

"You don't actually think we could take them, do you?" Clarke asked, worried that she'd offended him. She touched his shoulder. "I'm sure one on one, maybe, but they know this land so much better than we-"

"Clarke."

She snapped her head in the direction that Finn had now pointed his finger towards, in between the lake and Mt. Weather, but much farther west than the river. "What?"

"Do you see it?" Finn asked in a whisper.

Clarke squinted into the distance and scanned the patch of trees, looking for something out of the ordinary. A couple clearings, different foliage... and then she saw it. Smoke. A thick cloud drifting from the canopy and into the sky, too black and murky to be man-made. It was something that would have come from a crash.

Or a supply drop.

"We have to get the others," she said immediately, already scampering down the branches. If they hurried they might be able to make it before it got dark. "If a pod was dropped containing supplies, the grounders could get to it before we do. Or even animals."

She almost reached the ground when she felt a strong grip on her forearm. "Clarke," Finn said, worried look still on his face. His chestnut hair flapped wildly around his face and he lowered himself so that they were eye-to-eye. "How do we know that's not grounder territory? It could be a trap."

"Don't you think they would've attacked us by now?" Clarke countered, frowning. Nothing was stopping the grounders from hunting them in their sleep, or even attacking them during the day. They were sitting ducks. "Whatever it is, it doesn't seem to have landed on grounder territory." Her heart began to race a little in excitement. And hope. "There are tons of kids back at camp that need medical supplies. Just a few bottles of antibiotics could save lives. We may be doing okay at the moment, but who knows what kind of infectious strains Earth could have?"

Finn sighed. "Then maybe we should go, just the two of us." He suggested. "Bellamy and Murphy might have a different plan, and will probably insist on controlling the ship's contents." He glanced at his wristband. "If we go now and bring the supplies back to one of the caches I found in the forest, it'll stay safe until we need."

Clarke shook her head. Finn's suggestion had merit, but a supply drop would likely have many more supplies than two people could carry. And something about lying to Bellamy... The thought made her uneasy. Guilty.

Mentally hitting herself, she grabbed the canteens from the riverbed and motioned for Finn to follow. "Everyone has a right to know." She said with determination. "If Jasper or Octavia found a pod sent from the Ark, you'd want to know, too."

Shrugging his shoulders apathetically, Finn joined her as they began their trek back to camp. Their legs would sure ache tomorrow.

* * *

Sorry for the lack of Bellarke in this chapter! (I need to stop apologizing - I truly am Canadian) There's a lot to come, I swear! I just enjoy building up the story instead of starting right from the blue. I'm just as tortured inside, trust me. I wanna get to the good stuff ;)


	3. Forces

So sorry for not updating for a while - I've been an inpatient in the hospital and haven't had a huge amount of time to write. I'll definitely try to update sooner, and thank you so much for sticking with me!

Note: Story takes place on a similar timeline as the show, but due to the show updating faster than the fic, some variations may occur.

* * *

"Is it a supply drop, or isn't it?" Bellamy asked, arms folded across his bare chest. His clothes had been too muddy to wear so he'd thrown them in a bucket of water and hoped for the best. He'd wanted to do the same with his pants.

He stood facing Clarke, who'd just come from the woods with Finn. They'd come running like bats out of hell, claiming to have seen smoke coming from a spot far off in the distance. However they'd seen it, he didn't care. If the Ark had sent a pod down, it could mean radio contact with the ground. And if they established radio contact, they'd send more people to Earth, ones with real authority and weapons. With the Chancellor dead, and him being the killer, his days of freedom would quickly come to an end. He wouldn't be able to protect Octavia from a cell. Or worse, from a grave.

"I don't know," Clarke said, frowning. She seemed reluctant to talk to him, that angry spark in her eye that she got when confronted. "It's about forty miles north-west of the river, and fresh. The amount of smoke coming from the trees would indicate something the size of a supply drop, or bigger."

A crowd was beginning to form around them as she explained, and the murmur of voices grew louder and louder. Octavia was already trying to convince people to come check it out. They had yet to hear from the Ark, and the teens seemed excited at the possibility. Finn, on the other hand, didn't seem as willing.

"What if it's a trap?" Bellamy asked, hoping he could stop Clarke and the others from leaving, at least until morning. If he could stall for a few hours, he'd sneak out the back of his tent and gain the advantage. It didn't matter what was in the ship; as long as the radio was destroyed. Even if it was a trap, it was worth the risk. "It's probably in grounder territory. We'd be walking right into a massacre."

Clarke shook her head. "I've been mapping the sections of the forest, and the grounders don't seem to have claimed that area." She pointed a finger at him with narrowed eyes. "You of all people know that if the grounders wanted us dead, they'd have killed us long ago. They wouldn't bother setting up an elaborate trap and waiting for us to get there. They could just attack in our sleep."

She pointed at the treeline. "I'm gonna get those supplies, even if I have to go by myself. It'll take at least half a day if we leave right now."

"It'll be dark soon," Bellamy insisted. "We'll leave tomorrow. That way we can make it back before night."

Clarke shook her head again, and Bellamy felt anger surge in his veins. Why did she have to be so stubborn? It was like fighting with a brick wall. "The grounders could get to it first, as could animals. We don't know what the weather's like, either." Already walking to her tent, she shot a glance at Finn. "We have to go now, which means spending the night out there. We'll need tents."

"Are you saying we should share a tent, princess?" Finn asked, winking. Bellamy bristled and almost felt like saying something.

But Clarke was having none of it. "Finn, grow up," she said, rolling her eyes. She was already gathering her sleeping back into a messy pile and stuffing it deep into a backpack. "Don't bother coming if you can't stay focused."

Bellamy suppressed a grin as Finn's cheeks turned red.

"Well, I'm coming." Finn said, eyeing the others in annoyance. "Even if I don't think it's a good idea."

"I'm coming, too," Octavia announced, stepping out from between the crowd. She put her hands on her hips defiantly. "I'm bored here and would kill for something other than dried berries and panther."

Bellamy turned to her in irritation. "Like hell you are. You're staying here until I get back."

"Oh, you're coming, now?" Clarke asked, raising her eyebrows. She'd finished packing her tent and was hauling it onto her shoulders. "I thought it was _too dangerous._"

He ignored her and motioned for Miller to come over. "Miller, make sure Octavia doesn't leave the camp." He could feel Octavia's scorching glare on the back of his neck. "You're in charge until I get back."

Miller nodded. "Sure thing."

"We should be back by tonight... or at worst, tomorrow." Bellamy strode toward his tent and began packing his own things, throwing them into a mangled knapsack. He swung it over his shoulder and turned to Clarke. "Is it just you, me, and spacewalker?"

"We're coming, too," Jasper said, Monty on his heels. They both looked determined. "I've had enough sitting around the campfire singing Kumbayah. If there're supplies in that pod, I'm making damn sure the grounders don't get to them first."

Bellamy shrugged. Kid got spunk. "Alright, then. Grab your stuff and let's go."

* * *

It had been about six hours since they'd left camp, and Clarke decided it was time to take a break. Sweat had pooled in her shoulders and seeped through the thin fibers of her backpack. The map showed that the dropship as no less than ten miles out - a little over an hour of trekking - but the hill had gotten steeper and Monty's eyes were bugging out of his head. Her own parched throat indicated that they could all use a quick foot rest and a drink.

"Let's cool off for a bit," Clarke said, dropping her bag on a nearby stump. She felt fresh air hit her wet jacket and sighed.

"Oh, thank god," Monty gasped, chucking his pack at a tree and dropping to the ground. He raised both limbs above himself like a wounded animal and groaned. "My feet are KILLING me."

Bellamy frowned. "We're almost there."

"Exactly." Clarke said, pointing at the spot on her map. Soon they'd be able to smell the smoke of the crash and find out if she was right about there being supplies. "We'll get there soon. If there are any grounders around, we'll need to catch our breath in order to have any chance at fighting them."

"If there are any grounders around, we're dead," Finn muttered, taking a seat next to her. He wiped a damp lock off his brow. "What're we gonna fight with, berries?"

"We need weapons," Bellamy said, removing his jacket and shaking it out. "REAL weapons."

Finn turned to him with an exasperated look. "Sure, give everyone semi automatics. That sounds like a great idea." He sighed. "You gave an eleven year old a knife and she killed someone. And that was nothing more than a splintered rock. Half your guys have been ready to kill someone at some point, and there've been times when we've almost been too late. You really think handing weapons to kids who have no sense of right and wrong is smart?"

Clarke agreed with what he was saying; no one could predict what the hundred did, especially in moments where tension was high and emotions were running wild. In a pack mentality, people could get so riled up they were willing to commit murder. Like with Murphy. And Charlotte.

A twinge of sadness hit her stomach as she thought about the girl.

"Just because some people make bad choices doesn't mean we all will," Bellamy argued, catching Clarke's eye. There was something in it that Clarke couldn't quite distinguish... Guilt? Remorse? Pain? "If we're being targeted, we'll all end up dead, and no one will give a rat's ass who tried to kill who with a rock."

But on the other hand, if the grounders really did want them dead, it wouldn't matter if they fought each other. They'd be killed one way or the other. At least with weapons, they'd have a higher chance of survival. She hated to admit it, but Bellamy had a point.

She wasn't going to admit that, though.

"It doesn't matter." Clarke interjected, removing her jacket and splaying it out on a wam rock. Hopefully it would have a chance to dry in the sun. "We don't have weapons, and unless they sent us a guard ship, we won't have any for a while. We need to stay alert and be careful of anyone in the trees." She shot Jasper a sympathetic look. "We know they're able to blend right in."

"Awesome," Jasper muttered, taking a seat next to Monty. "Just like spear-throwing chameleons."

Sighing, Clarke took a swig of water and brushed a hair from her face. The sun was getting a little lower in the sky but still shining through the trees, and she took the moment to observe the others. There was a static-like tension between Finn and Bellamy, who were standing against two trees, facing each other with narrowed brows. Men were so territorial. Finn, who seemed so carefree but still tried to keep everyone safe, and Bellamy... he was hard to read. He had his moments, but most of the time he was nothing but an arrogant ass. A lot of his decisions were based on self-preservation for him and his sister, but they were still rash. And often stupid.

Water bottle almost empty, she took a quick glance at her map. There was a stream less than a mile out, still far enough from the dropship to be of any risk. It was smarter to restock now instead of later, since it'd be a lot harder - and dangerous - to wander the woods at night.

"I'll be back in twenty," Clarke said, pulling a few more jugs from her pack. She threw her bag next to Monty and turned to Finn. "There's water five minutes away and I'm running low."

"I'll come with you," Finn suggested, reaching for his own canteen. But Clarke stopped him with a raised hand.

"No, I'm gonna go alone." She needed the time to clear her head. It'd been a rough few days and with everything that had been going on, she hadn't had a moment to herself. "I'll bring enough back for everyone."

Finn frowned but said nothing. So off she went.

* * *

Bellamy leaned against a tree, widdling a stick with his knife. The heat was making the back of his neck sweat and their little pitstop had put him in a bad mood. They were so close to the damn radio. He would've taken off, too, if Clarke hadn't left. Chances were he'd run into her on his way out, and he'd have no explanation. Finn had been glaring at him all morning and probably wouldn't believe any excuses, either.

"Princess back yet?" Bellamy asked, raising his eyes. He was getting impatient.

"What do you think?" Finn retorted, sitting on a stump. He rested his elbows on his knees and glared. "It's been like ten minutes, Bellamy. Just enjoy the break. The dropship isn't going anywhere."

Bellamy grunted. He kicked at a rock beneath his boot, almost hitting Monty. "You never know."

"Why are you so eager to get there, anyways?" Finn asked, eyebrows knit together. He locked his gaze on Bellamy. "Wouldn't you rather we all stay as far away from the ark's help as possible? You know, your whole speech about us being the new race and establishing a new way of life? About not being part of their rules and society?"

"We still need food and medicine." He muttered. He didn't want to get into an argument again. "Or whatever supplies they sent."

Finn laughed dryly. "So you're willing to take their supplies, their help, their resources... and still trash their name in front of everyone else? You're a piece of work, Bellamy Bla-"

Suddenly, a high pitched wail shot through the trees. Monty jolted upright, limbs flailing. "Wha-?"

"Acid fog." Bellamy said, heart rate elevating. He quickly scanned the tree line and turned to Finn. "There was a cave less than five minutes back, probably deep enough to fit into. We have to get there. Now."

Finn's face contorted. "But Clarke-"

Clarke.

Bellamy's breath hitched in his throat. She was still at the stream.

"Go with Jasper and Monty," he said. He threw his pack over his shoulder and took off running in the opposite direction. "I'll meet you there," he shouted. "Just go!"

He didn't bother looking back.

* * *

Clarke heard the alarm as she was filling up her last jug.

Panic filled her veins. She grabbed it and took off towards the others. She had minutes until the fog hit, maybe a little more. They'd passed a cave on the way there and if she was fast enough, she might make it. If not, there was a chance that one of the trees was large enough to use as shelter.

She tore through the forest, jumping over logs and pushing branches out of the way. She felt dull pains as twigs bit into her palms and yanked at her hair. Adrenaline cleared her head and she focused on the pounding of her heart in her ears and the sloshing of water in the bottles.

She was halfway there when she heard her name.

"Clarke!"

Bellamy ran towards her, panting.

"We have to get to the cave," she said, pointing forwards. Her breath was coming out fast. "I don't see any clouds. We have time."

"The others are already there," he said. "But if it's anything like last time, it's going to come soon, and it's going to be fast. We have to find somewhere else." He grabbed her shoulder and started pushing her towards a hollow-looking tree. It was wide and tall, but unlikely to fit two people. "We can take shelter in there."

Clarke's heart began racing faster. "We're not going to fit."

"There's nowhere else, Clarke!" He shouted, face red. He scanned the horizon frantically, stiffening suddenly. She whirled around to see the trees swaying and thick green fog rushing through. "It's here. We have to go, NOW!"

Fingers still locked around her wrist, he ran towards the tree. Her feet lurched forward as she was pulled. She stumbled and dropped one of the jugs.

It hit the dirt with a loud clang.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Bellamy!" She screamed, dropping to her knees and clawing at the ground. She felt a few of her nails crack as she dug around the metal and finally found a handle. "Bellamy, there's a hatch!"

He pushed her out of the way and yanked the door open, releasing a cloud of dust. He threw himself in and she quickly followed, slamming it shut above her head. He grabbed her hand and helped her down the ladder as a loud whoosh was heard. The fog had hit. Clarke held her breath in the total darkness, praying the hatch was secure.

Suddenly there was sharp sound, loud enough to have been right above their heads. It was like a crack of lightning, followed by a low, creaky rumble. She could feel herself vibrate as the ground shook. There was a sudden crash, and then all was silent.

"Earthquake?" Bellamy asked, somewhere to her left. She'd gotten off the ladder and was feeling around for a lantern or candle.

"Maybe." Clarke said, frowning. It had only lasted a second, but who knew what the weather system was like. "I say we wait another ten minutes, at least."

"No kidding."

She fumbled around until she found a flashlight and smacked it on the bottom, letting the light flicker on. The room was illuminated in a dusty glow. From where she stood, it was a two room shelter with minimal supplies. There were two single beds, a small table with matching chairs, and a cabinet filled with cans. The layer on dust on every surface meant that no one had been in here for a long, long time. Maybe not even during the war. The food was long expired, but untouched.

Walking over to the far end of the hatch, she placed her canteen and jugs of water on the table. Her hand lingered on the rough wood. Thoughts of the time she'd spent with Finn flooded her mind, the nights in the shelters, lit by candle. Not knowing if the others were alright worried her. Finn was smart and resourceful; surely he got to the cave in time. She'd only have to wait a while longer before she could make sure of it.

_Was he worried about her?_

As her breathing calmed, she felt a stab of guilt as unwanted thoughts passed through her mind. _Why hadn't Finn come and found her? Hadn't he been worried about her safety? Did he think of her at all?_

_And why on earth had Bellamy been the one to come running?_

Clarke shook her head in frustration and slid onto a chair. She refused to think about anything right now besides making sure the others were safe and then returning to the original plan; finding the dropship. This was just a distraction.

Bellamy sat on one of the beds with an unhappy expression on his face. "I should be back at camp. Make sure Octavia's okay."

"She'll be fine," Clarke reassured, taking a sip of water. She gave Bellamy a sympathetic look. "She's more resourceful than any of us. This has happened before; we're ready for it. She'd know what to do."

Shrugging, he laid his attention on one of the walls and let his eyes glaze over. Clarke tried to do the same until she checked her watch and saw that ten minutes had gone by.

"Time to go?" She asked, pointing at her wrist. "The fog's bound to be gone by now."

"Yeah, better get a move on." He muttered. "We can still make it to the dropship before dark."

He scaled the metal ladder and went to open the hatch door.

Clarke waited beneath him and gathered her things, wondering what had happened to her knapsack. If she had her map, she'd mark this shelter as one of the many they'd discovered over the past week. She started to climb up as well when she saw Bellamy staring down at her with a strained expression.

"What is it?" She asked, worry creeping into her voice. He looked sick.

"The door..." He hissed, muscles taught as he used all his strength to push on the hatch. His fingers were wrapped around the handle, knuckles white. He grunted and exhaled. "It's sealed shut."

"What do you mean, sealed shut?" She shoved past him and grabbed the lever, twisting it and pushing on the door. She'd done it so many times with Finn. The lock wasn't engaged, and even if it was, the pins holding the metal in place would be visible. "It... it isn't locked."

Bellamy let his head sag against the wall. "Something has to be covering it." He slammed his fist into the door and winced as his knuckles cracked. A loud clang filled the room. "That crash we heard... it could've been a tree. That's why it's too heavy to lift."

Clarke felt her heart beat faster. "Are you saying we're stuck in here?"

Bellamy looked at her with a pained expression. There was a trace of panic in his eyes. "Until someone finds us... yeah."


	4. Exposed

If this chapter seems rough, I'm really sorry. I wrote it today and tried to polish it the best I could. Even though I had an endless desire to write, the words seemed awkward and fumbling. Oh well. What's done is done.

Thank you so much for your comments and reviews! I love reading them and they make me infinitely happy 3

* * *

Bellamy was sprawled on one of the beds with his feet propped up on the footboard and his arms crossed behind his head. He ignored the ache in his knuckles and closed his eyes, thinking of how long it would take Finn and the others to find them. If he'd been alone, he'd have more to worry about. But Finn would search every inch of the forest before he stopped looking for Clarke. And she'd reassured him that Finn knew about the hatches, that they'd found many around their camp.

Ones they'd found together.

He couldn't deny that her confession was irritating; they'd found sources of food, clothing, and shelter, and hadn't told anyone. Not even him. Maybe he felt betrayed, who knew. It didn't matter. What was done was done.

He tried get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth by taking gulp of water. Nothing was working out as it was supposed to. He wouldn't be the first to get to the dropship. He wasn't able to protect Octavia. And he was trapped in an abandonned shelter with a princess. Even if he was the one who made it happen.

_She's a better leader than Finn, _he said to himself. _That's why I ran after her. Finn would fight me every step of the way. She's easier to convince._

But something tugged at his chest and made him unsure of the truth. There were so many other ways the situation could've gone and yet he ran to her without thought. He didn't know why, and definitely didn't want to think about it. There were way too many thoughts in his head right now.

"We should look for a long piece of metal," Clarke said, walking to him. She motioned around the room with frustration. "There has to be something we can use as a pry bar."

He shook his head. No way were they lifting a tree with a stick. "Not gonna work."

She shot him an angry look and bit her lip. "Then what do you suppose we do, Bellamy? Sit here until someone comes and gets us out? That could take days, or longer. There has to be a way to get out."

"There isn't." He sat up and leaned towards her. His eyes focused in on the way her teeth grazed her lip, and he couldn't help noticing how vulnerable she looked. He raised his hand in attempt to calm her down, but thought twice about touching her and quickly pulled back. "I hate it just as much as you do, princess. But we're gonna have to wait until spacewalker and his little gang find us."

Clarke dropped back into her chair in defeat and sighed. "Might as well get some sleep, then. No point in waiting up all night."

Bellamy shrugged out of his jacket and kicked off his boots. She was right. It had been a long day and there was no reason to guard a door that was locked from the outside.

He started to pull off his shirt when he heard her cough. "Bellamy-"

"Huh?" Clarke had turned her head and was staring at the ground.

"Your shirt." She muttered, shooting a quick glance his way. Her cheeks were pink. "I don't need to see you strip. Keep it on."

He chuckled. The look on her face was priceless. "You never seen a man change before, princess?"

"You're an idiot." She glared, turning her back and removing her own jacket and boots. She climbed into the adjacent bed and rolled to her side. "Do whatever you want, just stay in your own bed."

"Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise."

* * *

Finn felt dread creeping down his spine as he walked farther into the forest, still without sign of Clarke. Or Bellamy, for that matter. The fog had only lasted five minutes before clearing, and he'd been walking with Monty and Jasper for hours.

He'd guessed that once the fog subsided, Clarke and Bellamy would also head to the dropship. But they were nowhere in sight, and neither was much of the ship. It was small - only able to fit one, maybe two people - and didn't seem to hold any supplies. The com was down, the ship was smoking, and the passenger seat was empty. They'd scoured the area in attempt to locate a body, maybe thrown upon impact, but they'd come up empty handed. Nada. The trek had been pointless, after all.

"Maybe the pilot was incinerated," Monty suggested, striding alongside Finn. "That's why we didn't find anyone."

"Maybe." Finn shrugged, mulling over the posibility. The ship was still intact, despite partial charring on the inside. Worst case scenario, they would've found the skeletal remains. "But I don't think so."

"Maybe Bellamy and Clarke got there first." Jasper suggested. He wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead. "They're probably on their way back to camp."

"Bastards." Monty grumbled. "Couldn't even bother to wait for us."

But Finn couldn't ignore the nausea brewing in his gut. Clarke wouldn't have left for camp without making sure the others were okay. Even if Bellamy forced her... Unless he hadn't gotten to her at all, and she was still in the forest. Maybe they were both still in the forest, injured. Or maybe they really did just head back to camp, deciding that the pilot - who could be in critical condition - was a higher priority than he was. Or maybe one of them needed urgent medical attention.

Finn adjusted the pack on his shoulder and inhaled. Nothing felt right. Something was off and he just couldn't shake it.

"If we keep walking through the night, we'll make it to camp by morning." He said, ignoring Monty and Jasper's groans. "We have to make sure the others got back safely. If not, we'll get more people and head back out."

"I doubt they're gonna be very motivated," Jasper muttered. "You know how they feel about Clarke."

"Bellamy might also be missing," Finn said. "Maybe that'll convince them."

Jasper gave him a pat on the back. "Or maybe that'll make it even harder."

* * *

Clarke woke to a shout. Her eyes flicked open as she sat upright, fumbling for the flashlight. She quickly scanned the room and looked upwards, hoping that it'd come from above ground. _Had Finn found them? _She opened her mouth to yell back when she heard the same shout, coming from her left.

Bellamy lay on his side in the cot, shoulders shaking. His body was tensed and curled into itself. Shining a light on his face, she could see that it was drenched in sweat and clenched, eyes darting beneath his lids as he dreamed. His eyebrows were bent in concentration and his cheeks were flushed. His lips were parted in a grimace and he shouted again, this time softer and more desperately. "Please-"

"Bellamy." Clarke stepped out of her bed and kneeled next to him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. She didn't want to scare him and have her arm broken off. "Bellamy, wake up."

She shook him softly, then a little harder. She could feel the dampness of his shirt as it clung to his skin and the heat he exuded. "Bellamy."

"Please, don't touch her. Take me instead."

His voice was lower than a whisper, and suddenly she felt a strong grip tug at her wrist. She yelped as he pulled her close and wrapped his arm around her lower back, pressing her body into his. He held her tightly, breath rapid and labored against her neck. "Stay. Please. Don't leave me."

Clarke couldn't tell if he was still dreaming. "Bellamy," She whispered, cheeks red. "Bellamy, wake the hell up."

He muttered something else in his sleep and grit his teeth together, jerking his head to the left. She tried to squirm out of his grasp but the embrace was too strong. One of his hands was holding her against him and the other was wrapped above her arms. Panic welled in her chest, but she couldn't help noticing another sensation as well - warmth. He was warm, almost burning. And as he held her, her heartbeat slowed. Her presence seemed to calm him, too. As she lay in his arms, inhaling his scent, his breathing grew steadier and his shakes became shudders. His face relaxed and evened out into something that almost looked like... peace. And innocence. She felt dizzy and suffocated, but also sedated with sleep. Her eyes began to roll and she finally gave in. She was too tired to fight. She let her head sag against his chest, lips accidentally grazing his neck, and closed her eyes.

She fell into a dreamless slumber just before he mumbled her name.

* * *

Clarke was still asleep when Bellamy's voice woke her.

"Wha-" His eyelids fluttered for a brief second before shooting open. With an expression of confusion and anger, he jolted upright and pushed her from his arms. "What the hell?"

"Huh?" Clarke opened her eyes, dazed with sleep, and momentarily forget where she was, before remembering the hike to the dropship, the fog, the embrace. Anxiety welled in her stomach. "I, uh-"

"Why were you in my bed?" He asked. She was confused by his jagged tone.

Ignoring the thump of pain in her chest, she backed up as far as possible and adjusted her shirt. "You had a nightmare last night."

He paled. "What do you mean?" He asked slowly.

"You were shouting." She muttered, bitterness creeping into her voice. His anger had caught her off guard and she felt a little offended. Logically, she knew she would've reacted the same, but it didn't lessen the blow. "I tried to wake you up and you grabbed me. You wouldn't let go. I figured you'd release me once you snapped out it."

Bellamy gaped at her with disbelief and rubbed his forehead. "Uh..." He was silent, lips forming a flat line. He paused, then exhaled lightly. "Sorry," he muttered.

Clarke's face grew hot. "It's okay. I just... are you feeling better?"

"Yeah," he grunted, tugging his shirt over his head. Clarke averted her eyes. "Just ignore me next time. Don't try to help."

Clarke frowned. "This was just like the time in the woods, wasn't it?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"You're lying." She accused, turning to him. The day he'd run out of his tent, she'd seen him kneeling on the forest floor, shaking and having a panic attack. There was no way this was an exception. She inched closer and raised her eyebrows. "You ran out of your tent and into the woods, saying the same things as you did last night. You've been having recurring nightmares." She tilted her head. "How long have they been going on, Bellamy?"

"Drop it, Clarke." He hissed, standing up. He stepped into his boots and began lacing them. "You need to learn to mind your own business."

"When you wake me up with your shouting, it IS my business."

"I said I was sorry, okay?" He snapped, turning to her. Her eyes were blazing and he looked angry. "What more do you want from me?"

Clarke let our a loud sigh. "I want you to tell me the truth!"

"Why?" He asked, taking a step closer. She backed up until she felt stone against her neck. Bellamy raised his fists and placed them on either side of her head, pinning her in the corner. "Why do you care so much?"

Clarke shoved past him. "Never mind." She muttered. "I'm going to check the door."

Clarke scaled the ladder and pushed on the hatch, feeling frustration shatter her bones as it refused to budge. She didn't know what she was expecting, that the tree or whatever was covering the door would've magically vanished during the night, but she continued to push until she could feel her muscles aching. The more she straind the angrier she felt. It bubbled up from her shoulders and into her entire body.

Everything was so frustrating. Being trapped in a hole while their only chance at supplies was being taken by others. Everyone always turning to her for leadership, never bothering to take initiative themselves. Whenever something happened, she was always the one to blame, the one that had to take the backlash of the situation. Did they bother giving her a break? She'd never wanted to be the leader. She never wanted to fight Bellamy ever step of the way. She never wanted to be anything but on the ground, breathing in the fresh air and feeling rain on her skin. She hadn't asked to be shipped to a dangerous planet that was already inhabited by aggressive people, slowly killing them off one by one. They were all kids, for god's sake. How was she supposed to lead a group of kids?

And Bellamy. Was it so hard to tell the truth? To say something, anything? He was like a brick wall that kept pushing her, and she had no way to fight back. He said nothing, felt nothing. She didn't know what she was trying to prove with his nightmares but she sure as hell wished she could forget all about them. Deep down, she was equally frustrated by the fact that he wasn't nothing to her. He meant something, even if she didn't know what. She'd been relieved when she saw him running through the forest, eyes wild. He'd been panicked FOR her, and that made her feel something. She'd been hurt when she hadn't seen Finn, but it wasn't the same kind of hurt as she'd felt when he'd pushed her away this morning. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She hated it. She hated everything.

She started to bang on the hatch door in anger. "Can anyone hear me?" She shouted, pounding harder. Her fists collided with rough metal. A dull ache began radiating through her knuckles and up her arm, but she ignored it. "We're in here! Finn! Can you hear me?"

The more she yelled and hit the door, the more exhaustion replaced anger. Her senseless frustration dimished to a numb feeling, no less relieving than the rage she'd felt moments before. She felt broken. Her fists continued to slowly tap on the metal as she sank to her knees, chest heavy and pressure building between her temples. She felt drained and suddenly overwhelmed. There was wetness on her cheeks. She bent over and saw a few tears hit the ground. Her shoulders shook but she forced her lips together so no sound would come out.

She only noticed her knuckles were bleeding when Bellamy wrapped his palm around them and pulled them away from the door. "Stop," He murmured, coming up behind her. He wrapped his arm around to pull her hand towards her chest, and held it there. "You're gonna break something."

Shuddering, she pulled away from him. "I'm fine, Bellamy," She muttered, rubbing her eyes with her free hand. She didn't want him taking pity on her for her stupid little breakdown. "Let go."

He ignored her.

"Bellamy, let go." She repeated. She throat felt raw.

"Calm down." He said. "You're better than this."

Clarke felt hysteria build in her chest.

"What do you know?" She cried, voice cracking. She squirmed and felt her body convulse in disgust as she tried to shake off his touch. She wanted to be alone. "You don't know anything."

"I know that you're a good person." He whispered. She couldn't see his face but she could tell he was serious. "You said the same thing to me once, a few weeks ago. You sacrificed yourself so that I wouldn't have to. You risked your life to save Charlotte, Jasper, Finn. You brave the unknown so that the rest of us can have a better chance at survival." He paused. "You helped me, Clarke."

Clarke muffled a sob. "I was the reason Charlotte died, Bellamy. I didn't save her. I couldn't do anything." She shivered. "I was the reason Murphy almost died. I'm the one who made Jasper go out in the woods the first day. I hated Wells when he did nothing but protect me. I... I'm not a good leader. They're right. You're right. I just make things worse."

She didn't notice that Bellamy had wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She felt warmth and a bubble of anxiety form in the pit of her stomach as her tears hit the floor and her body shuddered. She exhaled shakily and sniffled, trying to control herself. She'd tensed under his touch, but slowly let her muscles relax so that she could lean against him. It felt good to have someone hold her. Even if it was Bellamy.

"Shh," He whispered, letting his finger wipe a tear from her cheek. His touch left a burning sensation on her skin. "Shh, princess. It's gonna be okay."

His gentle words surprised her, especially since he'd been so callous moments earlier. But she didn't want to argue anymore. A blush crept up her neck as she realized how safe she felt with him. Holding her.

_Finn was right._

Maybe it wasn't about Bellamy at all. Maybe she just needed someone, anyone, to hold her and tell her it was okay. Most of the hundred had lost one or both of their parents, but she still mourned for her father. For Wells. For Charlotte. She'd felt alone, ever since she found out the truth about her mother. She WAS alone. There was no one here to protect her, to help her, to lean on.

Was she allowed a moment of weakness? Was she allowed to need someone?

Bellamy wasn't any different from the others. But for the moment, she didn't care. She wanted to feel his warmth. She wanted to feel human. She needed to. So she stayed where she was, kneeling at the bottom of the ladder, and let go completely. She dropped her head to his and closed her eyes for the second time that night.


	5. Cascade

Thank you so much for your reviews - some of them were the highlight of my day. I've been reading some other fanfics lately and have been getting a little discouraged by the sheer amazingness of some people's writing, but I'm still gonna try. You can't get better without practice.

* * *

Bellamy's stomach grumbled as he lay on his back, arms folded above his head. They hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday, and it was making him cranky. The bed was better than sleeping on the ground and having rocks grind into his spine... but rest wasn't his only prerogative. They needed food. The cans lining the walls were long expired and they didn't have meds for botulism. Nor did he want to be puking his guts out in such a small area, especially when they had a limited amount of water. The underground faucet in one of the corners had been built in the dark ages and was rusted shut, leaving them with whatever was left in their canteens. They were going to need food before low blood sugar made them weak, and they were going to need it soon.

He started to curse Finn in his head. _How could he take so goddamn long?_ If they were in reversed positions, he'd start at the location where Clarke had filled her canteen, and double back until he reached the spot they'd been resting at. He'd look for large, hollow trees, or overturned objects that were big enough to trap someone underneath. He'd return to camp to make sure Octavia was okay, then gather more men to help search for those missing. If Finn needed more teens to help lift the log, and had gone back to get them, he'd have done something to indicate that he'd found him and Clarke before leaving. Banged on the earth, called their names, something. There had been nothing but silence for twenty four hours. And it was driving him crazy.

Unless Finn wasn't looking.

He swallowed the flicker of panic in his stomach and focused on the ceiling. It was lined with fluorescent light fixtures that, when stared at too long, formed bright spots in his vision. The rest of the ceiling was paved over with a rough concrete, probably five feet in depth. The shelters were made to withstand a nuclear attack, and this one was no exception.

His thoughts drifted to Clarke. She was fast asleep on one of the cots, eyes still red-rimmed from crying. Her hair was splayed around her head like a crown. _Ironic,_ he mused. _Just like a princess._

He'd carried her once she drifted off, despite his embarrassment. He didn't mind her warmth, sitting with her as she cried, but he'd felt uncomfortable holding her unconscious body on the ground. She'd appreciate waking up somewhere familiar. He wasn't familiar. And he didn't know if he wanted to be.

His nightmares were back. He knew how he got with them, and the fact that Clarke had seen him so weak was mortifying. And disgusting. If dreams scared him so much, how could he handle real life? No one could respect a man who feared a stupid dream. _He _couldn't respect them. He didn't respect himself, so no one else could.

But then waking up to have her in his arms... he'd been shocked. She had been warm and soft and smelled like home. Even snoring lightly, she was cute. Before he'd realized where he was, he'd felt a sense of elation, almost happiness. She fit into his body perfectly. He'd had the odd fantasy about her; she wasn't ugly, after all. But he'd never thought about being so... close. So intimate.

And then reality had sunk in and he knew. He knew she'd seen him tossing in his sleep, saying things he never meant to say. Shameful. Weak. The very thought of it made him shake with rage. How could he protect Octavia if he was so inept? He hadn't meant to push Clarke away, with so much force, but the disgust he'd felt towards himself had completely extinguished any rational thought. He didn't want to acknowledge the problem. He wouldn't. And yet she still had to push him, trying to pry the truth no matter how hard he hid it.

He rubbed his forehead tiredly. If only he'd stayed away.

He still didn't know why he'd approached Clarke the way he did. He'd watched her release her anger on the door and felt nothing. He didn't care about her frustration, especially if it was towards him. He deserved every bit of it. But then he'd noticed her bleeding knuckles and a protective instinct had kicked in. He didn't know why, but he felt like he needed to shield her. Maybe it was because she was a girl. That had to be it. And then she'd started crying, sayings things that he knew weren't true. And something in him had shifted. He said things he never would have said, things that made him embarrassed and regretful and unable to look her in the eye. He'd hugged her, for god's sake. He couldn't imagine what she'd thought.

He ignored the way his heart beat faster when he thought of holding her close. It was ridiculous. He felt nothing and didn't care about anyone except his little sister. He'd vowed to protect her for the rest of her life and that's what he'd do. Trapped in the shelter, Clarke was obviously the embodiment of Octavia. He felt towards her what he would for his sister because he couldn't help his sister from where he was.

So useless.

He felt the urge to hit something. He couldn't do anything right. He hadn't been able to protect Octavia since coming down to earth, the only reason he'd come in the first place. He'd shot Jaha so he could make sure she stayed safe. And every moment of the day, she fought him, placing herself in harm's way as a form of rebellion. Why couldn't she see that fighting him just made him try harder? That he'd give his life for her? Maybe she thought he didn't care. Or maybe she knew how cold he really was, what a monster he'd become.

He heard Clarke give a little sigh in her sleep and looked up. She was probably just as exhausted as he was.

Inching closer to her cot, he stopped above the bed and looked down at her sleeping face. It was calm and relaxed. _Hopefully she's having a good dream,_ he thought. Little red blotches lined her cheeks from earlier and he had the urge to brush them off. He felt guilty. He was responsible for making her cry, and he'd caused her pain. Just another mark in his ledger of hurt he inflicted on others.

Either way, she was kind of cute when she slept. Her nose wrinkled a bit and her lips... He focused on them for a brief second, cheeks warming. They were parted just a little and looked.. well, soft. Really soft.

_You're an idiot,_ he said to himself, turning away. He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. _What the hell are you doing? Don't watch someone while they sleep. You're acting like you've never seen a girl before._

He definitely needed to breath fresh air or he'd soon explode. He wouldn't last another day without doing something he'd regret.

"Hey."

Bellamy startled as Clarke sat up in bed, groggily rubbing at her eyes. She yawned. "How long have I been out?"

"A few hours," He said. He paused, then forced a grin. "I guess you aren't used to physical activity."

"Ass." He scratched his arm as she rolled her eyes. It felt weird to joke with her, like he was putting on an ill-fitting mask.

Her expression grew serious. "Heard anything, yet?"

"No." Bellamy sighed. "Nothing."

Clarke chewed her bottom lip in thought. "How much water do we have?"

"One canteen," He said, checking the others. All empty. "Should be enough for a little while. Besides, doesn't it take a week to die of dehydration, doc?"

She frowned. "Yeah, but I'd rather not."

"I'd rather not be trapped down here." He retorted, glancing up at the ceiling again. He was itching to do something, to get something done, to make use of the time, instead of making small-talk. It felt forced.

"I'm gonna bang on the door some more," Clarke said, getting to her feet. She wavered a bit but regained her balance. "If Finn's nearby, he might be able to hear the vibrations."

Bellamy pushed past her. "Not with those hands, you're not." He began climbing the ladder. "I got it. Just... do something else. See if you can find some food that's not completely poisonous."

He heard Clarke make an aggravated sound but when he glanced back, she had a smile on her face. He quickly turned around and began banging on the door, ignoring the warmth that had crept into his chest.

* * *

Clarke jumped as a loud bang sounded above their heads, and felt a sudden wave of relief. Finn had found them. Bellamy was still at the top of the ladder and he looked down at her, equally relieved.

"Hey!" Bellamy shouted, banging on the metal. A series of crashes followed. "We're here!"

Clarke pressed her shoulder to the wall and relaxed. She was glad Finn had come; it was suffocating. And frankly, she didn't want to spend much more time with Bellamy. He made her uncomfortable. Not his actions; he'd been surprisingly sweet the night before. But the way she felt around him... It was unknown territory. And she wasn't ready to venture into it blindly.

There was a loud crash that shook the shelter, then nothing. And slowly, with a whine, the door slid open. A stream of sunshine hit her face and she grinned as it crept over her skin like a tickle. Warmth had never felt so good.

Until Bellamy shouted her name.

"Clarke, get back!"

She jerked her head up in time to see a pair of gloves grab Bellamy's shoulders and haul him upwards. He struggled against them but there were too many, dark and ragged and covered in leather. Grounders. She heard him swear and continue to shout for her to close the hatch, to stay back.

But she didn't have much time to react. As soon as Bellamy disappeared above ground, a grounder dropped into the shelter, ignoring the ladder completely. He turned to Clarke with ferocity and she stifled a scream. His mask was a hollowed animal skull and dozens of healed scars lined his body. Some were puckered with age, others purple and gaping. His skin was dark brown and taught, weathered from the earth's harsh rays, and freckled, too. He was muscular, frighteningly so. Despite wearing baggy rags and leather pants, she could see how defined and hard his body was. Probably able to crack her head in.

"What do you want?" Clarke asked, voice wavering. She took a step back and held her breath. "We didn't mean to trespass. We were caught in the acid fog, and were trapped in here."

The grounder grunted and moved towards her, reaching behind his back for a spear. She heard another one of Bellamy's shouts.

Clarke could feel her heart beating erratically as she thought of a way, any way, to distract the grounder. But in such close quarters, him being twice her size, she didn't think there was any way around it. Did they want to kill them? Hurt them? Take them hostage? She didn't even know if they spoke English. How could they?

She raised her hands in surrender. "Please, I'm not here to fight."

There was a glint of recognition in the man's eyes but it instantly disappeared. He grabbed Clarke by the hair and yanked her towards him, ripping out pieces in the process. Her cries echoed as he dragged her up the ladder, stumbling and scraping her skin on the ground, right onto ground level.

"Clarke." She heard Bellamy utter her name as she struggled to free herself from the grounder's grasp. It felt like her hair was caught in a wind turbine. Her roots were on fire and if they hadn't left her skull on the way up, they were bound to momentarily. She gasped as he scooped her with one arm and threw her onto the ground. She landed with a thud. And screamed.

Pain shot up her leg like electricity. Agonizing spasms latched onto her veins and she saw stars burst beneath her eyelids. She groaned and heard Bellamy curse.

Managing to open her eyes she glanced at him, still struggling against a grounder's hold. They had his arms pinned behind his back and on his knees, so that his face was pressed into the dirt. He writhed in anger and managed to get a good kick in between one of the men's legs. Unfortunately, that landed him a swift kick in the stomach, knocking the air out of his lungs.

"What do you want?" Clarke hissed, wincing in pain. Her head was spinning. She took a deep breath and glanced at her leg, praying it wasn't broken. Good, it wasn't twisted. But there was a stick piercing her lower calf, cleanly struck from one side to the other. It had ripped into the skin and out the front, causing a splintering agony every time she moved. The lack of blood provided slight comfort, though; if it had pierced an artery, she'd be dead.

The grounders, once again, ignored her. They had three horses with them, each equipped with their own form of saddle, reigns, and bridle. The grounder that had pulled her out of the shelter had now bound all of Bellamy's limbs and thrown him on the back of a black horse. She felt another wave of panic; if either of them fell while the horses were moving, they'd fracture their necks.

One shout to another in a grunting language and Clarke felt her own arms being tied roughly behind her back. The rope was much too tight and pulled at her shoulder blades painfully, but nothing compared to the agony of binding her feet. The grounder wrapped rope around the mid-section of both calves and squeezed tight, a sensation that could've been described as pouring acid into her bones. She let out a screech of pain before turning to her side and having bile bite her throat. Coughing, she heaved the little bit of water she'd consumed over the last day, just to be hauled upright again. Nausea made her stumble as she was thrown onto a horse; bumping her leg and causing another wave of anguish.

"Clarke!" She heard Bellamy shout her name once more, this time in panic. He seemed to be moving farther away. But there was no way to check from the position she was in. Something sharp pressed against her back as she tried to wriggle free, and she felt a shift in weight as someone straddled the horse.

"Bellamy!" She opened her mouth to yell back and felt the words leave her throat... just as the grounder's club collided with her skull.

Then everything went black.


	6. Dread

I'd planned this chapter out weeks before the preview for The Calm was aired, so it's really coincidental that the plots line up so similarly! I'm really excited for it to air tonight, whee~ I've been trying to update more often so if it sounds too rushed, just me know! Thank you so much for your reviews!

* * *

Clarke woke to a splintering pain in her skull. She groaned and rubbed her head, which throbbed steadily in sync with her heartbeat. It felt like she'd fallen off a building. The pressure behind her eyes brewed fierce as a storm and pushed against her eyelids like thick, sticky rods. There were flecks of dried blood in her hair and as she rubbed them between her fingers, she paused, confused.

_Am I bleeding?_

She remained dissociated for a few seconds before recognition flooded her brain. She'd been knocked out.

Panic surged within her chest and she forced herself to take a deep breath.

_Calm yourself, Clarke, _she thought, biting hard on her inner lip. _You're alive. You're breathing. Your heart's still beating. You need to stay calm and keep a level head. You'll think of something. You and Bellamy will-_

_Bellamy._

"Bellamy?" She whispered, trying to turn her head without strain. From where she sat with her legs awkwardly chained to the wall, she didn't have space to move. The room was dark with a few dashes of light streaming through what looked like a braided canopy a few feet above. Dust filled the air in a thick coating. The space was cool and a chill radiated onto her bare arms; the walls were close together. It smelled like damp moss and earth and she swore water trickled nearby. Bile still coated her tongue and amongst all the things she wished for at the moment, a drink of water was one of them.

She tried again, louder. "Bellamy?"

No response. She swallowed, wondering if he was okay. He was a lot tougher than she was, but a lot more hotheaded, too. If he tried anything, he could be seriously injured. Or worse. They knew nothing about the grounders except for their cruel methods of dealing with outsiders. It wasn't wise to test them. And Bellamy was all for testing people's nerves.

Her heart beat a little faster and she prayed he hadn't done anything too reckless.

She urged to log her surroundings but the rational part of her mind told her she needed to first account for her injuries. She'd be useless with crippling leg damage, or worse, a concussion.

Everything hurt. Her muscles were sore, her wrists were beyond chafed, and her stomach burned. The leg was a little less agonizing than before, though still aching sharply, and there was a goose egg of a bump beneath her hair.

Starting at her feet, she strained against the cuffs and meagerly prodded her skin. Her fingers were light on the gash in her calf and passed over the entry wound, now puckered and sticky. She was surprised that the branch was no longer running through her muscle like an adjoining bone. _The grounders must have removed it, _she thought uneasily. It couldn't have fallen out on its own. And as much as she was glad it was out, her anxiety stemmed from the grounders intentions. They were the reason she'd gotten injured in the first place. Why prolong her suffering by stopping the bleeding? A chill ran up her spine.

Clarke tried to ignore the theories flailing about her brain and felt the other side of the wound, beginning to close up and form a mushy scab. Unless the grounders had cleaned it thoroughly, something she highly doubted, she'd need antibiotics, like penicillin or cephalexin. The biggest danger of injury in the bush was not so much the immediate wound, but the possibility of infection.

She couldn't reach her stomach, but her shoulders seemed fine, and so did her neck. She prodded the top of her head and winced at the tender spot. It had bled into her hair, but had since then clotted and ceased dripping. She thought of her mother in the infirmary, treating patients for concussions caused by zero gravity. She certainly had the headache and nausea, preceded by loss of consciousness. But confusion, amnesia, and slurring were absent. Her head seemed clear enough, maybe even working on overdrive. She tried to stand before remembering her legs with shackled and made a mental note to check for dizziness. She'd do that later... whenever she was allowed to move.

God, how could everything have gotten so far from their original plan?

Bellamy's shouts kept echoing in her head and drowned out all other emotions with guilt. Like with anyone else, she cared if he got hurt. He was still human. And anything that happened to him was undeniably her fault.

She was the one who convinced the camp to go and scout the dropship, paying no heed to Finn's advice of waiting till morning. She took off to get water, and even if she hadn't asked Bellamy to come get her, he'd risked his life to make sure SHE was okay. She found the hatch, not him. They might've been able to fit in that tree and would've never been trapped in the first place. And last but not least, her hissy fit on the door that cut her hand and made Bellamy take her place in making noise. She would've been hauled onto the horse first, and he might've been able to fend off the grounder with a knife or two.

"Bellamy..." she exhaled, shoulders drooping. Her stomach gave an enormous growl and she added that to her list of problems. "Just please be okay."

"Worried about me?"

Clarke startled at Bellamy's voice, eyes darting around the walls. She couldn't see anything but the streaks of light and lack of movement in the shadows. "Bellamy?"

"Over here, princess." He groaned, throat sounding raspy and dry. He gave a short cough. "I'm to your left, I think. Can't see you."

Relief washed over her. "You're alright."

"Course I am." His answer was gruff and indignant. "You think I'd let myself be killed that easily?"

Clarke tried to laugh but nothing came out. "What happened?"

"Don't know much," He grumbled, and she heard him sigh deeply. "The bastards threw me on the back of a horse and knocked me out. Just woke up. My head's killing me."

"We have that in common." Clarke gingerly touched the sore spot on her head. "I'll need to look and make sure you don't have a concussion."

"Don't bother," Bellamy said, to Clarke's irritation. "We need to get the hell out of here. Did you see anything on your way in?"

"They knocked me out, too, remember?"

Bellamy paused for a moment, thinking. "Okay, well, we're in some kind of cave. Do you see anything around you?"

She scanned the darkness again and felt helpless. "No, it's too dark. I can't feel around, either; my hands and feet are bound."

"Mine, too." He grunted. "One of the ropes is a little loose, though. I think I can-"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence before a light flickered on above their heads, chasing the darkness away like it was made of feral animals. Clarke winced at the brightness and averted her eyes. The ground was a lot dirtier than she'd thought, made of some form of primitive concrete. There were splatters of dried blood leading from her ankle and across the floor... right to Bellamy, who was shackled a good twenty feet away. She cringed when she saw him; his jacket was torn on the right shoulder and damp with blood. The synthetic fibers had mixed into the gash to form a clotting mess. His clothes were covered in mud and one of his eyes was badly bruised, complimented by a cracked lip.

Bellamy's gaze shot to hers in an instant, urging her to stay calm. His brown eyes were wide, but instead of fear, there was rage. Clarke felt a sudden anger fill her body, too; they were like trapped animals, forced to kneel and submit until granted permission.

There was an entrance behind Bellamy that hid a stone stairwell. A pair of leather boots stomped down those steps and into the room, attached to a burly-looking grounder. A yelp of frustration built in her throat but Clarke swallowed it.

"What the hell do you want?" Bellamy shouted as the grounder entered the cell. He resembled the man who'd attacked her in the shelter, with similar garb and an equally terrifying presence. He lacked a mask so she could see his piercing blue eyes, surrounded by thick black lines that started in the corners of his lids and spread out across his face. Three thinner lines striped his nose and also curved outwards, down his neck. His hair was a little shorter than ear length and chopped in uneven sections, and was a sandy brown color that seemed darker at the roots. He had a square jaw, sharp cheeks, and an overall muscular build. He held a spear in one hand and a can full of murky water in the other.

"Drink." The grounder shoved the can across the floor towards Clarke. She eyed him carefully and thought about refusing, but her mouth was so parched that she wouldn't have cared if it had come from a rusty well. She bent over and slid the sharp metal edge between her teeth so she could lift it up and tilt it into her mouth. Water trickled through her parted lips and into her throat. It tasted like heaven.

When she'd taken a few sips, she set the can back down in front of her. The grounder picked it up and set it down in front of Bellamy. His eyes were black with hatred and Clarke had to shoot him a pleading look to get him to take a breath and accept the grounder's offer. Once he was done, the grounder kicked the can away and grunted.

Clarke heard footsteps coming from the entrance; much lighter than the man's. Soon a woman entered; a more feminine version of the grounder next to her.

"Are their throats clear?" She asked in a lilting voice. Her companion nodded gruffly. She gave a cold smile that barely reached her nose. "Good." She turned to Clarke and Bellamy. "My men found you on our land."

Bellamy hissed. "We were trapped."

"You wouldn't have been had you steered clear of our territory." She replied, less than amused. She turned to Clarke. "You're their leader."

Clarke's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

The female grounder took a step closer and Clarke could smell the soil in her hair. "You. Blonde girl. You're the leader of your people, the ones who came from the sky and burned one of our villages to the ground. Correct?"

"We did nothing to your village," Bellamy interrupted angrily. He struggled against his restraints and swore. "We crossed the river and you shot one of us with a fucking spear. You strung him up like a piece of meat on a wall of spikes. We've done nothing to you or your people except land on earth. Which we had no choice in."

"Silence!" The grounder thrust the butt of his spear into Bellamy's stomach and he contracted around it with an _oof._ He grunted in pain and ground his teeth together. "Only speak when spoken to."

Bellamy clenched his jaw. "How about you-"

"We don't have a leader." Clarke interrupted, glancing at Bellamy. Her eyes begged him to keep quiet so he wouldn't be hurt again. It tore something inside of her. "We vote on all decisions as a group."

"No matter." The woman said. "This is our land, and you have breached our boundaries. Not only have you intruded and established living grounds on soil that is not yours, but you have committed an act of war. Twenty of my people perished because of fallen debris from one of your ships, and many were injured."

Clarke was incredulous. "The ship we came on landed in tact! We were nowhere near any village, not for miles. We've been here for over a week and there's been no smoke."

"Not when you arrived," She hissed, looking at Clarke like she was stupid. "Yesterday. A smaller vessel landed miles from your unfortunate shelter. Pieces broke off mid-flight and collided with one of our villages. It burned to the ground."

Clarke cringed. The supply ship.

"What do you need us for?" Bellamy asked evenly, obviously biting his tongue so as not to swear. "We didn't send that ship."

The woman smiled, a cool, calculating grin that omitted any sense of warmth. Her teeth were yellowed at the edges and curved downwards with an ominous point. Directed right at Clarke. "You're a healer."

Clarke knit her eyebrows together and hoped this wasn't going where she thought it was. "What?"

"You need to heal those who were injured. Our healers have tried but there are many who are not recovering. We have seen you heal your injured people, and unless you wish to die here, you will heal ours."

Dread hit Clarke like a sack of bricks. If they needed her help, the state of those hurt in the explosion had to be gruesome. There was no way she could fix someone with severe trauma, especially by herself. She lacked all equipment found in the med bay - x-ray machines, sterilized tools, antibiotics - and even with them, she wouldn't know what to do. Her mother had refused to let Clarke watch her surgical procedures; it would be like threading a needle, blind. What would they use to sterilize the injuries, alcohol? Did the grounders have that? Did they have a bed, plastic, needles, thread? Blood bags for those who'd lost blood?

Too many missing pieces, too many factors chalking up the inevitable.

"I can't." Clarke objected, feeling a bit of desperation in her throat. She looked at the male grounder with a pleading expression. "I'll only make them worse."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "You don't have a choice."

"Don't do it, Clarke." Bellamy glared with contempt. "We owe them nothing. They're going to kill us anyways, whether you help them or not."

"If you do not, you will die right here."

Clarke looked from Bellamy to the grounder helplessly as she tried to think of a solution. He was right. They were going to be killed, whether she helped or not. But above ground, with medical tools, she could have fighting chance at escape. She wouldn't be tied up. If any of the injured grounders turned critical, all eyes would be on the dying, not her. Maybe, just maybe, she could slip away. Reach the others, get reinforcements.

And if she refused, there was no hope of seeing the others again. She thought of Finn, who, until now, had been absent from her mind, and felt her heart flutter. Where was he? Was he looking for her? Would he come for her if he knew where she was?

Hands shaking, she turned to the leader. "I'll do it."

She heard Bellamy hiss as the woman nodded in approval. "Excellent." She turned on her heel, vest fluttering, then stopped, tilted her head, and said something to her companion. He nodded. "But just in case you decide to cross me." The grounder pulled a knife from his jacket, handed it to the woman, and in an instant, she had stabbed Bellamy in the stomach.

"Bellamy!"

Clarke cried out as Bellamy's eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in shock. His hands drifted to his waist as his face paled. She screamed his name as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he crumpled.

"The knife was laced with poison," The woman said, handing the dagger back to the man. She was already halfway up the stairs when Clarke heard the last part. "And if you don't succeed, he will die."


	7. Solicitude

Thank you all so much for your reviews! They're what keep me going! My brain's felt a little muggy lately so some of my writing feels a little forced to me, but that just may be my insecurities. This chapter's moderately graphic in terms of gore.

* * *

The grounders had come for Clarke moments after her agreement, hauling her up the stairs by her armpits and dragging her heels through the dirt. The shackles had been removed from her feet but the pain in her calf made it impossibly hard to walk. She'd screamed for Bellamy and begged them to let her treat him. Blood was seeping from the wound in his abdomen and his skin had turned an ashen white. She could see his chest rise and fall but she had no way of knowing how deep the wound was, but the knife had entered right up to the sheath, making it five, six inches at minimum. Even if she was able to save the grounders and get him the antidote, he'd have lost too much blood.

She took a shaky breath and focused on the ground below, stomped flat by the amount of traffic in the camp. The village resembled one from her history books; muddy, trampled soil forming primitive roads, lining flat, stone buildings. They were solid grey slabs with open doorways and no windows, some weeds growing around the bases in sporadic patterns. The grounders had arranged various plant fronds on top of the buildings to form roofs, and some had metal sills at the edges to collect rainwater and deposit it in buckets down below. Trees surrounded the village from all sides and she had no doubt the branches contained grounders, on watch with primed bows. Ready to strike.

The grounder pushed her through a stone arch and into a relatively clean-looking room. Beds lined the concrete walls about two feet off the ground, high enough so that patients came to waist level when lying on their backs. The bed frames were made of metal, surprisingly; copper-tinged and bent in places like remnants of deteriorated, post-nuclear war buildings. There weren't many sheets or blankets for the injured to use, only ragged pillows made out of animal hide. A few rags sat in a corner of the room with dark red stains and a black, unknown liquid. Tables also filled the room with detailed tools, some of which she'd never seen. They were primitive in appearance and probably gathered by the grounders over years of exploration. Bottles of multicolored liquids capped with cork were scattered about, labeled with black ink marked on crinkled paper. Clarke felt a bit of relief; the grounders had _some_ medical tools, ones she could use to help their people. Maybe she could do it.

But then she noticed the people _in_ the room, the ones she had to heal, and any hope she'd had disappeared.

There were five or six grounders lying on their beds, most sleeping. The closest one - a man to her left - was covered in third degree burns from his charred skull to blistered feet. Most of his skin had burned away so that the first two layers had disintegrated, leaving bright red craters of exposed flesh and bone. It was wet and raw and a thin, gummy film of plasma coated the bloody burns. Surrounding the open sections was black scabbing, dotted with white pustules; the body's feeble attempt to reconstruct itself. The flesh around it was speckled with various yellow oozings due to infection. Clarke was astounded that he was able to sleep; the pain he'd be in was beyond describable. His face was intact, surprisingly; a small miracle.

Nauseous, Clarke was pushed to the second grounder, a young-looking female whose hair was plastered against her skin in a cold sweat. She was trembling and seemed to also have some bad burns, probably infected and causing the fever. Most of the injured grounders were suffering from bacteria and severe scarring, all except for one.

Clarke raised a tentative hand and lifted a large piece of fur that had been placed over the last woman. She immediately wished she hadn't; a huge chunk of shrapnel had dislodged from whatever had hit the village and embedded itself in her right thigh. It was half a foot long and as few inches wide, seeming to pass from one side of the leg to the other. There was no doubt it sat on an artery, pressing it closed against bone until moved and slicing it in half. Had the metal been taken out, the woman would have bled to death. Instantly.

She took a deep breath and turned to the grounder leader. "What's your name?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Anya."

"Anya. I can help with burns, if you give me alcohol, clean cloths, and antibiotics. But I can't help her. If she moves, the artery in her leg's going to split. I can't fix it. She's going to die."

Anya glanced at the grounder on the bed and shook her head. "She needs to live. You must heal her or else your male companion dies."

Clarke felt frustration bubbling in her throat. "Look at her!" She yelled, jabbing a finger at the gaping wound in the woman's leg. "If I remove the metal, she'll bleed out right away. The artery has to be sewn together by a full medical team, one with suction, extra hands, proper tools, and lots of light. I'm not a doctor and you don't have any of the needed tools. I can't do it." She grit out the last part.

A hiss escaped from the grounder leader's lips. "You don't have a choice, healer. Unless you want to die." She paused, and gave a nod to the man to her left. "We will provide you with what we can."

Clarke rubbed her forehead and felt sweat build at the back of her neck. Her eyes darted to the door but a grounder stood guard, fist grasping a long, pointed spear that would no doubt be lodged in her back if she tried to run. She flexed her fingers nervously and tried to remember anything she'd learned about arterial trauma and suturing vital parts of the body. Removing the shrapnel was the first thing to do, and it didn't really matter how it was taken out; the damage had been done as soon as the woman had been hit with it. If the metal had twisted and torn at the artery ends, she'd have to excise them and bring their clean-cut pieces together. They wouldn't reach. On the ark, her mother would have inserted a vein graft to add to the length, but she couldn't do that on the ground.

She swallowed and took another deep breath, then placed her hands on the shrapnel. There was no point in waiting.

She yanked.

It came out smoothly, covered in blood and darker clots. She handed it to the grounder next to her and quickly turned back to the patient, heart racing. The metal had made a six inch hole in her abdomen and would quickly be submersed if she didn't stop the bleeding.

Clarke reached into the woman's wound with shaking hands and fumbled until she felt the artery, sliced in half. It pulsed beneath her fingers as blood pumped through the vessel and into the thigh cavity. It was filling up fast. She blindly felt an end with the tip of her finger and was relived to find a smooth edge. No excision needed.

"I need two pairs of clamps, quick."

Someone handed her two rusted tools - ones she'd seen in sixth grade science class - but she gladly accepted them and secured both ends of the artery so that no more blood would be lost. It was essential to work fast so that the tissue didn't die. She knew her mother would have injected the arteries with some kind of anti-clotting agent, but with none on hand, she'd have to hope for the best. She squeezed the open ends to make sure no clots had formed and brought them together, then grabbed a piece of cloth and placed it behind the artery so she could see what she was doing.

This was the tricky part. Clarke shot a quick glance at the female grounder who, until now, had remained unconscious. If she were to wake up mid-suture, she risked shaking the clamps and bleeding out.

Clarke grabbed a needle and thread from a nearby table and passed the tip over an open flame... not that there could be any more bacteria in the woman's wound. Carefully, she thread the needle through the first end of the severed artery and into the other. It was impossibly hard to see through all the blood, so Clarke did most of it by feel, and the rubbery, wet sensation beneath her fingertips made her gag. She did this again on the opposite side. The basic sutures would steady the artery and allow her to do more accurate stitching.

She continued suturing around the two adjoining ends, about one millimeter apart and one millimeter from the cut edges. When the two ends were joined as one, she fumbled and tied clumsy knots on the outside. She reached for the clamps then paused, and remembered that the distal clamp - the one farthest away from the center of the body - had to be removed first. That way any leaks in her suture would show. Clarke then released the proximal clamp, providing pressure on the repair with a piece of fur, and crossed her fingers.

"The artery's closed." She muttered to herself, almost in disbelief. "The artery's closed."

Feeling a pulse in the artery distal to the repair, she gave a nervous laugh and prepared to clean the wound, then sew the rest of the skin shut. Her vision had began to blur at the edges and she worried that she might faint from adrenaline comedown. She grabbed a moderately clean looking rag and poured alcohol on it, then changed her mind and poured the alcohol directly into the wound.

That was when the grounder woke up.

The woman's eyes flicked open at first, then her entire body spasmed, contorting with pain. She let out a wild screech and jerked upwards, her arm catching Clarke in the side of the head. Clarke stumbled backwards and crashed into one of the operating tables. She watched as the grounder tried to sit upright in panic, flailing her arms at the guard and spurting blood all over the ground.

"What did you do?" Clarke heard the female leader's voice enter the room. Anya took one look at the injured patient and turned to Clarke, seething. "You made her worse!"

"She woke up!" Clarke insisted, running to one of the med tables and grabbing at vials. She frantically smelled one, then another, and another. "I need something to knock her out!"

She found a bottle that smelled like chloroform, and assumed that, by the way it made her head spin, it would work. She rushed to the patient and poured the liquid into a cloth, then pressed it over the woman's mouth and motioned for the guard to help hold the woman down. The patient struggled against the male grounder's hold until her eyelids drooped and her body finally stilled.

Clarke let out an exhausted breath. She took a moment to calm her racing heartbeat and checked the grounder's pulse, out of habit. It should have slowed to near bradychardia, below the normal amount of beats per minute.

And yet, she felt no pulse.

Clarke felt her own heart rate accelerate for the hundredth time that day and pressed her fingers to the woman's carotid once more, desperate to feel something. A pulse, a thump, a flutter, anything. She grabbed the woman's wrist, only to yield the same result. _No, no, no._ Clarke opened the woman's mouth and placed her cheek above it... and it was confirmed; the grounder wasn't breathing.

A chill ran up Clarke's spine. She dropped her head in defeat.

The woman was dead.

"What is it?" Anya asked, pushing Clarke aside. She shook the female grounder's shoulders and her voice elevated hysterically. "What did you do? What did you do?"

"I'm sorry." Clarke took a step back and braced herself. "I did everything I could."

"No. Not everything."

The leader grabbed Clarke by her shirt and slammed her against the stone wall, sending a wave of pain crashing through her shoulders. Her scream was cut short as Anya pressed a jagged blade to her throat and clamped a hand beneath her chin, fingers wrapping around her neck and cutting off her airway. She felt the cold bite of metal pushing against her jugular as she beat her fists against the leader's back in a desperate attempt to break free. Her body struggled beneath Anya's grip but the woman only pressed harder, teeth barred in fury. Black dots began to invade Clarke's vision as her breathing shallowed; her head spun: she was going to die. This was it. A desperate plea willed her to fight, but her hands were empty and she was weaponless. The walls were closing in at distorted angles and greys blurred with specks of color. Anya's stone expression muddled into fuzzy shapes as the woman spoke. _Morrer unha soa vez._

Clarke couldn't hear her.

_I'm sorry, Wells, _she thought, her lids fluttering. _I failed. I wasn't able to protect anyone. I couldn't even stay alive._

As her eyes closed, she uttered a silent prayer, willing it to be painless.

Suddenly Anya dropped to the ground.

Clarke barely registered the gunshot. As the pressure was released from her windpipe she crumpled to the floor next to the leader, coughing and gasping for air. It took a minute to catch her breath, but once she did, she glanced upwards in fear.

Bellamy stood in the doorway with a gun, body shaking and swaying as beads of sweat dripped down his pale face. Clarke shot a quick look at the unconscious grounder and rushed to Bellamy's side, slipping his arm over her shoulder and placing a steady hand on his back. His weight sagged against her as he panted, and she could feel his muscles – taught and strained - beneath his shirt. He was using every bit of strength just to stay upright.

"How?" Clarke began, helping him out of the door. She took the gun from his open hand and held it carefully, still shaky herself. Her leg was on fire but she bit through the pain.

"Rope was loose," He said, attempting a grin. Even though he was wincing in pain, his eyes were still proud. She glanced at his abdomen and grimaced at the wet, bloody gash in his shirt. "I got away from the guard and found the gun on him. Lucky."

"No kidding."

Clarke heard footsteps close by and pushed him around one of the stone buildings, pressing a finger to her lips. He nodded and they stilled, listening as urgent shouts sounded through the camp. Anya had been found. Her mind raced as she thought of an escape plan; grounders lined the trees, but there were more in the camp, reading to kill them on sight. But grounders couldn't be in every tree. They were probably only in the first few, circling the village's immediate radius in case of attack. If she and Bellamy were fast, they could avoid being shot.

But they weren't fast. From the way Bellamy leaned on her, she knew his condition was bad. He'd never show weakness, not unless he was desperate. And by the way his hair plastered his white, clammy skin, and his lips were pressed into a tight line, he was desperate. The wound in her leg wasn't too easy to walk on, either; the stitching had helped, but every step she took was still extremely tender.

"We have to go." She whispered. She could feel his warmth and weight stir against her body as he roused himself from near unconsciousness. "Can you run?"

He grunted. "I can try."

They took off as fast as they could, stumbling over branches and rough terrain. It wasn't easy. Clarke grit her teeth together in effort and focused on the trees ahead, willing her body to push forward until they were out of grounder range. Every muscle ached from overexertion and she was sure that her skin had become one big, blue, limping bruise. Bellamy was having more trouble, panting and clutching his stomach as he struggled along, but looked nothing but determined. She checked over her shoulder every few seconds, and even though none were to be seen, she could hear their shouts in the distance. Her heart beat like a drum as they ran.

Clarke had no idea how far they'd traveled when she felt Bellamy shift against her. He stumbled and fell to the ground with a groan, emitting a loud thud.

"Bellamy!" Clarke grabbed his arm and tried to pull him upwards, but he pushed her away. He was even more pale than before.

"Just go," He panted, struggling to get up. His eyebrows were knit together in pain. "You have a chance to make it back. The camp needs you."

"The camp needs you, too, stupid." She said. "We'll make it. Just get up."

"Clarke." Bellamy grabbed her wrist gently and turned her to face him, looking her straight in the eye. They were wide and pleading, but firm. "You know that's not true."

"I'm not leaving you, Bellamy." She whispered. His brown eyes flickered. "You saved my life, so I'm saving yours. We're getting out of this together."

Lines creased his forehead - whether from frustration or exertion - and he gave a low sigh. He shook his head slowly. "Stubborn princess," he mumbled. "All you do is fight me."

And then he held out his hand.

Something shifted in her chest like a gear falling out of place, and with a shaky breath, she helped him stand. She supported him the best she could as they stumbled through the forest, moving twice as slow so that Bellamy could stop to catch his breath. She had one hand on his abdomen in a feeble attempt to subdue the bleeding and the other around his back. He tried to put as little weight as possible on her shoulders, but the further they got, the more he gave in. Soon she was supporting most of his movement.

Eventually the grounders' cries grew distant, and Clarke began to recognize the surroundings. The lake, the rocks, the various hatches. They were moments away from camp. She grinned, relief washing over her like rain. She'd be okay, Bellamy would be okay. They'd made it.

When they arrived, all Clarke could remember was the opening of the gates and the rush of people. Bellamy was lifted onto a makeshift stretcher and rushed to the dropship. Questions buzzed about as she pushed through the flood of bodies, searching for someone... She heard a shout, then felt a pair of arms around her, warm, warm and heavy. They wrapped over her like thick, weighted blankets and she finally gave in, passing out.


	8. Idling

Ever heard the expression, 'forced writing?' God, that was what this chapter seemed to be. I wanted to get to the Bellarke moments so badly but didn't want to rush it and had to painstakingly push through. Hopefully this doesn't sound too forced to you. Your reviews keep me going and I want to thank each and every once of you!

By the way, the season finale is tomorrow, and I'm beyond excited. I'm definitely not ready, are you?

* * *

Clarke woke to darkness. Her eyes flicked open and panic filled her chest, as quick and striking as an electric current. She sat upright, ready to jump out of bed and face whatever lay in the shadows, when suddenly the memories flooded back and she dropped backwards, panting. Her heart pounded in her ribcage and she willed herself to breathe. _Stay calm, Clarke,_ she thought. _You escaped. You made it back. You're safe at camp, and you're okay._

_But he's not._

"Bellamy?" she croaked. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she could make out the dusty rafters above. She raised her head and saw that she was inside the dropship, propped up on one of the makeshift gurneys they'd constructed from metal scraps. Her leg was elevated and wrapped in clean bandages, hurting considerably less than before. "Bellamy?"

"He's managing." Finn's voice drifted from behind her head and she strained to face him. "If I'd known you cared so much, I would've wheeled him in next to you."

"Ha." Clarke said tiredly. There was a bitter edge to both their tones. She felt more exhausted than when they'd landed, and every muscle in her body ached, including ones she didn't know she had. The brisk air in the ship didn't help relieve the tension; as fall turned to winter, the temperature had plummeted. It was too crisp for comfort and they'd soon need to discuss how they planned to face the upcoming cold.

Her health wasn't on her mind, though; worry for Bellamy brewed in her gut. His wound was too deep to heal on its own. He'd lost a lot of blood and he'd been on death's door last she'd seen. The poison would soon set in - if it hadn't already - and with his weakened immune system, he wouldn't last long without an antidote. Assuming one existed. If anything happened to him, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself. Even as he'd stood, dying, he'd saved her. She'd had one chance to save his life, and she'd failed. She wouldn't let herself fail again.

"Finn. The dagger, it was-"

"Poisoned, I know." Finn cut in, walking around the bed so that he stood at her feet. He looked like hell; his face was wary and concerned, and his shaggy, brown hair was matted and unkempt. Bags lined his eyes like ones you'd get from days without sleep. "We assumed as much by how feverish he was. We didn't know what to do until Octavia came in and saved his life; there was an antidote. She says she found it in a hatch, along with a journal explaining its use. Obviously a lie, but we've been far too busy to push her for answers. All that matters is that it worked."

"Thank god." Clarke dropped her head onto the pillow and sighed with relief, ignoring the last part of Finn's explanation. "So he's okay?"

"Yeah."

There was silence. Clarke inhaled deeply, relaxing and letting her eyes drift shut. _He's okay._

"Since when is Bellamy Blake so important to you, anyways?" Finn asked suddenly, a sharpness to his tone. He looked perplexed. "Did something happen? You guys didn't, you know..."

"No!" Clarke protested, her cheeks growing hot. She felt anger bubble inside her at the invasiveness of his question. "Of course not!"

"Then why do you care so much whether a guy like _him_ lives or dies? He's not good for anyone."

Clarke gaped at him. "He's one of us, Finn, whether you like it or not. He may be an ass, but he's still a human being. No human deserves to suffer, not even the bad ones. We started a new life the moment we hit the ground and what happened on the Ark doesn't matter. We've all been given a chance at redemption, Bellamy included. When I couldn't help the grounder, _he_ saved my life. If he hadn't shot Anya, she would've killed me. I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for him."

Finn furrowed his eyebrows.

"I know you don't like him," Clarke continued, frowning. "But you need to take a step back and focus on what's actually important. Who I'm concerned for is none of your business, Finn, especially not when there are so many other problems we have to deal with. We're running out of food, winter's coming, and the grounders want us dead; your pissing contest is just making things worse."

She winced at the harshness of the last bit. Why was she being so defensive? Normally she would've kept her cool while saying the same things, but this time, she couldn't help being angry. It wasn't like she was trying to hide anything. Right? Her concern for Bellamy was the same as her concern for anyone else, nothing more. He was just another human being, like she'd said. And all humans deserved to be treated equally. She was infinitely grateful for the countless times he'd saved her, but she wasn't partial to him. How could she be, with his constant hardheaded attitude and lack of restraint? Sure, he was becoming more tolerable, but she still couldn't stand him.

It didn't matter if she was overeacting, if Finn's comment had set her over the edge... in the end, she was right. There were more important things to focus on, and emotions weren't one of them. So much had happened over the past twenty four hours and she was having a hard time processing it all. The grounders had been on earth for years and years, and had made do with minimal resources in ways the Arc never could. They'd shot Jasper without provocation, but now that the dropship had destroyed a village, they had real reason to attack. Anya had been shot, too. The camp was bound to receive retaliation, serious retaliation. And they had no way to prepare, not without weapons and ammo from The Ark. They didn't even have enough food or warm clothing to last them the winter.

Her thoughts churned until she felt a soft touch on her forehead. She startled amd looked up to see Finn, standing over her with a raw, pained expression in his eyes.

"I'm sorry." Finn whispered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. A shiver travelled up her spine. "I didn't want to upset you, I just... I'm not myself lately." He rubbed at his forehead in frustration. "I was really worried... I thought something had happened. That you were hurt. Or worse..." His fingers lingered on the side of her neck before he took a shaky breath and dropped them. "Dead."

Clarke felt her face grow warm. "I'm fine," She mumbled, turning her head so that she faced the wall. Her heart beat a little faster. "I'm not the one who got hurt."

"I know." He said softly, biting his lip. She could hear his voice waver, like he wanted to say something else, but he only shook his head.

"You should be looking after Bellamy, not me." Clarke muttered, closing her eyes. She was still annoyed at Finn and just wanted to sleep. His apologies would do no good when she was this exhausted. "Until his fever's gone, you can't know if he's fully recovered. Record his temperature every hour or so and check his pulse. If infection sets in, you'll be able to catch it early."

Finn nodded. "Monty and Jasper are looking after him." He said, laughing nervously. "They're doing a pretty good job as nursemaids, without the dresses and all that. I told them to get the dirt off his clothes, but I'm pretty sure he won't let them touch him, not in his current state. For a guy who nearly died, he's got quite the bite."

Clarke felt herself smiling, just a bit. She couldn't help but find it amusing. Bellamy, bandaged and hurt, fighting off the boys as they tried to wash him. She could just imagine the look of irritation on his face, the way his brows would furrow in annoyance and his jaw would set. There would be a hint of warmth in his glower, though, as he'd realize they were only trying to help. That gentle gaze that would sometimes fill his eyes and break the walls he guarded with his life, a look she'd only witnessed a few times. One he'd get when watching Octavia from afar, seeing her laugh carelessly with others as though she'd grown up alongside them. When holding a weapon in his hands, gripping it like a boy on Christmas Day. When looking up at the stars and thinking of his past, back on the Ark, and the occasional memories that came with it.

And sometimes, just maybe... when he was looking at Clarke.

All of a sudden, a hand touched her shoulder, and any trace of amusement vanished. She turned and saw Finn's fingers curled around her shoulder, his eyes shut.

"Clarke..."

She tensed. His tone was serious.

He exhaled. "I was wrong."

She frowned. A sinking feeling filled her stomach and she replied slowly, expecting bad news. "...about what?"

"It wasn't a supply drop, Clarke, like we'd thought it was. It was a dropship."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, but when they did, Clarke felt a sudden rush of excitement. She sat upright, ignoring the immediate vertigo. A dropship meant someone, or multiple someones, had landed. Which meant The Ark knew they were alive, that the earth was habitable. That they'd send more people, with supplies, weapons, food, blankets. "Were there a lot of people? Did they make it?"

"She did." Finn said slowly, and Clarke started to grin. But something in his eyes held warning. "Her name's Raven."

"That's great, Finn!" Clarke exclaimed, leaning in for a hug. All previous awkwardness had vanished and she felt a sense of elation. If Raven had survived, the ship was likely in tact, and maybe even able to transmit a radio signal. "Who is she? A council member?"

Finn took a deep breath, and his next words made Clarke stop in her tracks.

"She's my girlfriend."

* * *

Bellamy had spent the last two hours fighting Jasper and Monty with everything he had. He hadn't slept a wink since his and Clarke's abduction, and had to chance of rest until the two idiots stopped doting on him like a little girl. It was embarassing enough to have been carried whilst unable to walk, but the way they looked at him gave him the chills. Their stares were a mix of pity and amusement, like they knew they could do anything to him and get away with it.

"Get the hell away from me." Bellamy growled, pushing Jasper back as he advanced with a sponge in hand. Normally he'd find it comedic, but the lack of sleep was pulling his last nerve. "You're both serious pains in my ass."

"Come on, Bell." Monty snickered. "Finn said we had to clean your wound every few hours, and we're just doing what we're told."

"I've been conscious this whole time, and not once did spacewalker mention a fucking spongebath." He bared his teeth. "I might be injured, but I can still use a knife."

Jasper sighed and rubbed his mop of curls. "Fine, Bellamy, keep your clothes on. But we _do_ have to clean the wound, or else it's gonna start smelling."

Bellamy frowned and cursed under his breath, but relunctantly pulled up his shirt. He winced as it caught on the bandage; it had been less than twelve hours since he'd been stabbed and without any pain killers, it still hurt like a bitch. It felt like a small animal was chewing its way through his insides with razor teeth.

Even worse, he could hear them chuckling as they washed his stomach.

"You're enjoying this too much." He muttered, rolling to his side. He waited as they peeled back the bandage and pressed a wet cloth to his wound, trying to gently scrape any pus that had accumulated. It was pure luck that it wasn't infected yet. "How's Clarke doing?"

"Still sleeping, I think." Monty said, shrugging. Bellamy could hear him pour some moonshine into a rag and braced himself for the sting. "Seemed fine when she came in, besides the whole passing out thing."

"Hmm." Bellamy didn't even know why he'd asked. Of course she was fine; the princess was _always_ fine. And always ready to order everyone around. "...good."

Jasper turned to him with a sly expression. "So... you and Clarke, huh. You guys were trapped in one of the bunkers, right? For a whole night? All alone?"

"Yeah." Bellamy frowned, stifling a yawn. "What about it?"

"Just saying, man." Jasper raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner and shrugged. "If that had been me in there, I would've been all over that. Perfect scenario in the making; she's scared, it's cold, dark... you're the only one to comfort her..."

"Shut up." Bellamy muttered, rolling his eyes. "Nothing happened."

And that was the truth. Nothing _had_ happened.

He wasn't going to lie. Clarke was good-looking, and he was always up for a good time. Had she started something, he wouldn't have objected. He'd had plenty of fun with girls over the past few weeks and wasn't complaining. But that was it. Just fun. He didn't want a relationship. They were complicated and unnecessary, and feelings would only get in the way of what he came down to earth to do: keep Octavia safe. He didn't need someone messing with his head, especially not Clarke, who had already managed to fight his every move. As long as he stayed distant and unnatached, there'd be no problem. Sex was for fun, nothing more.

But as much as he hated to admit it, she had already started to mess with his head. She seemed to show up everywhere he went, and he'd somehow allowed her to get under his skin. He would never have been hurt in the first place had he not gone running after her like an idiot, and he _still_ didn't know why he'd done it. Or maybe he did, but he wasn't letting himself explore it any further.

All he knew was that he didn't especially care about her. At least, he didn't think so. She wasn't anything special, just a normal, obnoxiously persistent rich girl who grew up priviledged and without pain. She knew nothing of the suffering his people had endured, all to cater to the upper class and their indulgences. His mother had been a victim to that very suffering, dying for giving birth to his sister. Clarke never had to experience what his family had gone through and still felt it necessary to take charge, to attempt to control the very people her parents and friends had condemmed to poverty and anguish.

And yet, he couldn't erase her completely from his mind. No matter how much he pushed, she kept coming back.

He closed his eyes in frustration and let out a sigh.

_Like a goddamn gnat._


	9. Mercurial

Thank you for your reviews! I'm in shock from the season finale (if you haven't watched it, do it asap) and licking my wounds. I don't know how I'm going to last the summer without looking forward to Wednesday nights :c

* * *

Clarke pushed the tent flap aside and walked into camp. The sky was an ashen grey with looming dark clouds, ready to rain at any moment and blacken the atmosphere. The fire was still lit from the night before and the area was barren; most of the kids were off doing final errands before the storm hit. Once it began to pour, they'd be back. The air was heavy with pressure and Clarke felt it weighing on her shoulders, passing through her as though we were one with the atmosphere; drifting, tired, flat. Her arms dangled at her sides with apathy and her eyes were weighted to the ground.

She eyed the woods to her left and decided to make her way towards the trees. Maybe it'd be better to spend the night in one of the caches, separated from the drama and bustle. It had been less than a day since she'd returned, and as relieved as she was to have escaped the grounders, the fervent attention was weighing on her. It'd be nice to spend some time alone, without the constant nagging and reminder of what she'd just found out. She'd light some candles, curl up in a dry blanket, and let her mind slip away... just like she and Finn had days before. Those nights when the sky was pitch and nothing shone but the glow of their faces. The warmth of their skin against one another and the soft, lingering scent of sweat and oil, mixed with something sweeter. The utter silence, leaving nothing but-

"Why are you torturing yourself?" Clarke muttered, kneading at the knot between her eyes. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and sighed. "You're making a big deal out of nothing."

But it hurt. A lot. He'd betrayed her with his lies. Of course he'd had a life on the Ark – one filled with previous relationships - a past before he'd come to earth. She'd expected as much, especially from a guy with such a flirty presentation. But not bothering to tell her about his current girlfriend... it was cowardly. It didn't matter if he hadn't planned on seeing her again; Clarke deserved the truth. And the way he'd acted after he'd told her, like he still cared and planned to pursue whatever they had going on... it was so selfish. How could he try and win them both? If he still cared about Raven – who she felt nothing but pity for – it wasn't fair to try and salvage things with Clarke. She felt sorry for Finn's girlfriend, if anything; making the journey to earth in hopes of finding her love, only to discover that he'd been sleeping with someone else. Someone he'd just met.

_God, it had only been ten days on earth when they'd spend the night in the hatch. How could he have cast his girlfriend aside so quickly?_

Clarke grit her teeth in anger. Had he even _told_ Raven? Maybe she was making too big a deal out of it, and the sex had been a one time thing. But something in Clarke's gut told her differently, and it made her sick. Raven likely knew nothing about what had been going on, and that just fired Clarke's building fury.

And on top of it all, she felt ashamed for being upset. The embarassment she felt was more powerful than anything. It was such a stupid situation, and she had no right to brood. She'd only known Finn for a few weeks, not nearly enough time to have established a serious relationship, and should have taken the news with a level head. It should've stung for a second, then slid off her back. Nothing more.

And yet she was still feeling sorry for herself.

She'd come last, and could accept that. It was okay to be the martyr. Hell, she was used to it, having suffered the consequences of others' actions again and again. Betrayal was starting to feel like something of bitter comfort, a normalcy that returned every time she gathered the courage to let someone in. No wonder she had a hard time trusting people; when she put her faith into someone's hands, they crushed it without second thought. She had to learn to accept it as a fact, that people were bound to cut their ties and leave her for dead.

But it hurt. And with hurt came anger, which led to fury, which led to an amplification of emotions that could only be calmed by complete and utter numbness.

Clarke dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand in frustration. _Stop it!_ She growled to herself, relishing the sharp pain. _Why are you feeling sorry for yourself? You're not a kid anymore, Clarke. Don't let someone's idiocy affect you. His past had nothing to do with you. Any girl could've taken your place and the result would've been the same. You weren't special. You were just another body to keep him warm on those lonely nights, to keep her place until she came down._

She'd been an idiot for letting herself get close to him. He didn't deserve either of them; not her, not Raven.

Clarke grimaced and shook the thoughts out of her head with a literal shake of her body. She focused on the muddy ground beneath her boots and had made it to the edge of the camp walls before Bellamy called her name.

"You okay?" Bellamy jogged up – well, tried to – beside her.

"I'm fine." Clarke muttered, then turned around and frowned. "What are you doing out of bed? You're going to rip your stitches."

Bellamy shrugged. "Couldn't spend any more time in the ship. Those guys are driving me crazy."

"I'm serious." Clarke insisted, feeling irritated on top of everything else. People expected her to heal them with the little medical knowledge she had, and yet they didn't bother listen to her advice. They wanted an instant fix but weren't willing to do any work themselves. It created more work for her and a greater chance of infection, which created even _more_ work for her. "I'm not going to stitch you up again just because you're too stubborn and impatient to listen. If they rip, you're going to have to do it yourself. Without anesthetic."

Bellamy rolled his eyes and looked smug. "There wasn't any the first time." He said, folding his arms over his chest.

"Exactly. So you know how much it'll hurt."

Clarke ignored his grunt of a response and turned her heel, starting to walk towards the forest. She hoped to hear his footsteps residing as he took her silence for dismissal. She didn't want to talk to anyone right now, especially not Bellamy, of all people. Her chest was heavy and pressure was building behind her eyes, a feeling separate from the atmosphere; giving in was a path she did _not_ want to take. It was easier to feel hollow and pretend the emotional current in her veins didn't exist. Emptiness was less effort to maintain. If she talked about it, she would be acknowledging the pain, making it real. And with reality came a rush of emotions, ones she didn't want to deal with right now, with everything going on. She couldn't handle the hurt, betrayal, anger, pity... they could wait for another day. One that wasn't anytime soon.

Clarke sighed and leaned against a pine tree. She wanted to tear at something, do something to release the building anger. That was another reason she'd wanted Bellamy to leave; so that there'd be no audience when she finally broke down.

And yet, to her manic frustration, she could still hear his breathing.

"Bellamy," she grit through clenched teeth. Her nerves were wearing thin. "Go away."

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm serious." She warned. "I'm not in the mood."

Bellamy ignored her. "You know, Clarke," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm not the worst listener in the world."

Her heart skipped a beat, but it felt heavy, like a stone dropping into an empty chasm. She was too tired. "I don't need your pity."

"About what?" Bellamy asked. He took a few strides so that he could face her, his eyes locked on hers. His expression was soft and concerned, yet determined. "Come on, princess. Don't make me beg."

"It's nothing." Clarke muttered. If only she could convince herself that it WAS nothing. "I'm fine. Go back to camp, Bellamy. You need to be lying down."

Bellamy raised an eyebrow. "I may have been stabbed, but you look like hell, too. Go get some rest, I'll keep Finn and the rest of the idiots out of your tent. The camp can handle itself for the day." He held out his hand. "It's not safe out here, especially with grounders looking for blood."

She sighed deeply in frustration. "They wouldn't be this close to camp lines."

"You know that's a lie." He countered. She was starting to understand how other people felt when she wouldn't let up about something. He paused. "Just like the lies you're telling yourself."

"It's stupid." She muttered, shaking her head. She didn't want to explain it to him; it was embarrassing and childish, and she felt like she was back in middle school. They'd just escaped death and were being hunted by _savages,_ and she was upset by boy trouble. "The last few days have sucked, that's all."

"No kidding." Bellamy agreed. His gaze locked on her and she could feel his dark brown irises enter her eyes with an iron grip. Conviction shone through his strong, dark eyes as he shifted his jaw. He took a slow step closer and his features softened with sympathy. "I'm serious, princess. What's wrong?" He looked genuinely concerned, a familiar warmth filling his gaze, the one that only appeared on blue moons. "Secrets do nothing but destroy us from the inside out. You know that."

Clarke sighed. She was too tired to argue. "Finn has a girlfriend." She muttered, feeling warmth creep up her cheeks. The words felt foreign on her tongue, heavy and sour. "And she's here. In camp."

Bellamy's brows knit together in confusion. "I didn't know spacewalker had come down with a girl."

Clarke shook her head, immediately regretting her decision to say anything. "He didn't. She arrived yesterday... on the dropship. The one we thought was a supply drop."

"The one we nearly died because of?" Bellamy's eyes widened as he thought for a moment, before making an 'o' shape with his mouth. He cocked his head to the side and frowned. "I wonder why she'd come alone." He contemplated. "_Was_ she alone? Or were there others, passengers that didn't make it? Was the dropship like ours, or..."

He trailed off in thought, then shook his head, focusing. "Either way. Why does it matter?" Bellamy's mouth was twisted. "It's not like you two were together..."

He caught Clarke's eye and instantly froze. His lips parted and something dark flashed through his eyes. "...were you?"

"No." Clarke said, then faltered. Her cheeks flushed. "I mean, I... I don't know." She dropped her head in defeat. "Maybe."

Bellamt was silent for a few moments. When he finally spoke, it was gruff. "Well." He said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His posture had gone from relaxed to tense, ready with agitation. "Guess that sucks for you, then."

"Thanks." Clarke muttered, taken aback. She hadn't expected such a cold reaction. "Glad you were here to tell me that."

"No, I-" Bellamy reached for her shoulder and hesitated, slowly retracting his arm. "I didn't mean it like that. I just," He rubbed the back of his neck as his face muddled with confliction. "I don't know what to say. I didn't know that you were together..." There was an awkward silence between them as he thought. "It threw me off guard," He admitted. "I guess I'm not too great at comforting people."

"It's fine." Clarke whispered, sliding her back down the pine trunk until she touched the ground. Her arms rested at her sides tiredly. "Like I told Finn; there are so many more important problems we have to figure out. Maybe the stress is getting to me."

Bellamy took a seat a few feet away and looked at her intently. "You can't fix everything, princess."

"I know." Clarke dropped her head into her hands and gave an aggravated groan. Bellamy cracked a weak smile. "But I have to do something, or we're going to run into even more problems. Winter's coming, Bellamy, and we have two weeks of rations left, tops. The weather's already cold and we have no protection, not even blankets. The closest shelter is Mt. Weather, which was already guarded by grounders before we got them angry and basically declared war against their kind." She grimaced. "And here I am, thinking of nothing but how Finn used me, and how stupid I was for expecting anything less."

"Clarke." She raised her eyes at her name and met Bellamy's, who were staring into hers with a fervor that made her breath catch. "You're not stupid." He whispered, his voice low. "Just because spacewalker's too much of an idiot to see how..." His words faltered. "..._strong _you are, doesn't mean you should lower yourself to his level. Which is the lowest, by the way." He added.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards reassuringly. "You don't have to figure out everything right now, okay? We'll figure it all out later... together."

Clarke blinked and felt a fluttering in her chest. She was exhausted from the long trip the day before and bed was becoming ever more appealing in her mind. The fuzziness in her brain was thick as spiderwebbing and it was getting harder to focus. And maybe she was delirious with the current of polar-opposite emotions running through her...

...but she felt reassured by Bellamy's words. Maybe even something more, a feeling she couldn't identify. But something... good. She'd been waiting for Bellamy to sneer and tell her how childish she was, and had gotten the opposite.

She took a deep breath and touched his forearm gently. The contact made her cheeks redden a little. "Come on. Let's go back."

Bellamy gave a weary grin and rolled his eyes. "Afraid my stitches will break?"

"I think they already have." Clarke pointed at his abdomen and the small spot of red that was starting to seep through the tshirt. His eyes narrowed as he brought his fingers to the wound and winced at the touch.

"Ouch." Bellamy gave her a sheepish look. "Sorry."

It was Clarke's turn to roll her eyes as she pushed Bellamy forward and shoved every other emotion into the earth below. She still felt conflicted and torn, but the building pressure was gone. Somehow, she felt that she'd transferred some of it to him. "I'll fix them back at camp."

They walked for a few moments before Clarke stopped. She dropped her hands to her sides and looked at him seriously. "Bellamy?"

"Yeah?" Bellamy asked, turning. His face knit together tiredly, like he was worried she was going to argue with him again. "Don't tell me you're staying here. Cause there's so way in hell you're going to-"

"Thank you."

Bellamy looked at her in surprise. "I-" He stopped, then averted his gaze. His features softened. "No problem," he muttered, turning. He rubbed his head. "We have to..."

Clarke didn't hear him as he trailed off, but it didn't matter. Somehow, Bellamy's presence had made her stronger. She didn't know what that meant, but for now, it was enough to know that she wasn't alone. That she had a friend she could count on. They'd figure it all out together, decide what to do with the impending threats. And maybe, as a _team,_ they could find a way to keep everyone alive.

* * *

As soon as Bellamy woke, he knew something was wrong. His mind was alert, but his body lay beneath him, sluggish and unresponsive. The disconnect lasted a few seconds until his brain met with his muscles, and he began to register his immediate surroundings.

Cold.

His sleeping bag was filled with residual warmth from his body, but his limbs were freezing. The ground was frozen solid and had formed uncomfortable lumps of hard soil beneath his back. He touched his skin and felt how cold he was. A puff of smoke appeared in the air and it took him a moment to realize that it was his breath. His _breath._ He grabbed a nearby sweater and pulled it over his head, rubbing his hands together as he sat up and pushed his way through the semi-frozen tent flap.

A boy stumbled into him. The kid was a moving sleeping bag, nothing but the top of his head sticking out.

"Hey." Bellamy grabbed the boy's shoulder and spun him around. "When did this start?"

The kid shot him an irritated look. "How would I know, genius? I just woke up." He shivered. "It's fucking freezing!"

Bellamy shoved him aside as he wrapped his arms around himself and made his way to the firepit. A few teens sat around it, awkwardly huddled and poking the small flame with a stick. He pushed through them in annoyance.

"We need tinder." He ordered, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. He couldn't bother understanding WHY the weather had changed so fast, just how they'd deal with it. "Lots of it. Firewood, too. We have to make this big, big enough to warm everyone."

"I don't want to go out there." One of the girls whined, curled in a ball beneath a ratty blanket. "What if it's colder in the woods?"

"Do you want to freeze to death?" Bellamy shouted. He didn't have the patience for stupidity. He turned to the rest of the group angrily. "Start gathering. Now."

The kids scattered. He sighed and scanned the perimeter, wondering if it'd be best to wake up the others. Maybe Clarke would have a better idea.

He'd turned his back to the forest for two seconds when someone tugged at his shoulder. He whirled around, ready to launch into an irritated speech about why they couldn't sit around and wait out the cold, when he came face to face with his sister.

"Bellamy." The tips of her long brown her were frosty and her lips tinged blue. She looked at him with fear. "Bellamy, I-"

"You gotta stay warm, O." Bellamy said gently, removing the blanket from his shoulders and wrapping it around hers. She shivered into it. "I don't know how long it's going to last, but we have to prepare fast. Hopefully it's like the acid fog; quick to hit, quick to dissipate."

Octavia shook her head. "Bell, it's not that."

Bellamy frowned and tilted her chin back to study her face. She looked alright, besides the obvious cold. "What is it? Are you hurt?"

"There's a boy," She whispered, biting her lower lip. She pointed to the forest line. "I don't think he's breathing."

Bellamy felt a jolt of adrenaline. "Where?" He let Octavia lead him to the side of the gate, where a young boy lay on the ground, partially covered in frost. He looked about fourteen, maybe thirteen, and his skin had turned a pale blue color. His short brown hair was frozen to the ground and his cheeks were white. His lips were cracked and parted with frost, and his eyes were closed. He almost looked... peaceful. Like he'd fallen asleep and just hadn't woken up.

"Fuck." Bellamy reached for the boy and recoiled at how cold his skin was. Ice cold. He tentatively pressed to fingers to the boy's neck and felt his own heartbeat accelerate at the lack of movement. Dead.

"Is he-?" Octavia leaned over his shoulder with a worried, terrified expression on her face. He looked into her eyes and saw that she already knew the answer. He nodded, and her shoulders drooped. "Oh, Bell..."

"Go back to your tent." Bellamy ordered, standing up. He brushed the frost from his pants and sighed at how the morning was turning out. They didn't need to add another to the growing body count. "You don't need to see this."

Octavia hesitated. "What are you going to do?"

"The ground's frozen solid." Bellamy said, feeling a headache building behind his right temple. "So we can't bury him, at least not yet. I'll get a blanket and cover him, then I'll tell the others. Maybe someone knows who he is."

Octavia gave a slight nod and took off, leaving Bellamy alone and staring down at the frozen corpse. The boy must've been out all night, and had only made it back to camp just as his body started shutting down from hypothermia. That confirmed his theory; the frigid weather had hit suddenly, without warning. Otherwise the boy would've made it into a tent and back to warmth.

Bellamy swallowed the nausea in his gut and turned his head, not wanting to look at the boy anymore. He tried to be brave, for his sister, for himself, for everyone... but death wasn't something he dealt with easily. It made him uneasy, wary. It reminded him that humans were fragile and able to die at any moment. They could all die at any moment, and they'd be helpless.

Rubbing the pounding spot above his right ear, he walked back to camp, a chill setting in his bones. It was going to be another long day.


	10. Winter

Omg, I'm dying to write a Bellarke scene, and even though this chapter was done a few days ago, I put off posting it until I was almost finished writing an actual scene so that you wouldn't have to sit through another few days receiving nothing but boring plot development. I'm so glad you guys have stuck with me for so long :')

* * *

Clarke stood facing Bellamy in a large crowd of people, covered with the thickest blanket she could find. It was frigid outside and she was still recovering from her less-than-pleasant wake-up call of rolling face first into the frozen ground.

"This isn't like acid fog." She argued, trying to convince the others. Bellamy had made the cold sound like a one-time thing, something that, if they survived for the next day or so, would concede and disappear for good. "The temperature's been dropping every since we got here. According to the books I've read, fall's turning to winter, a season when the entire area's covered in snow and temperatures can drop past forty degrees celcius." She looked at Bellamy. "The rate at which the temperature dropped last night was incredible, I give you that. And maybe the drops will hit at random times. But they're only going to get colder, and once we get snow, we're going to have an even bigger problem."

Bellamy tensed his jaw as he considered her words. "What's so bad about snow?"

"Right now, we're cold." Clarke explained. She often forgot - guiltily - that most people on the ark hadn't had the privileges she'd had, of going to the library and flipping through old stacks on a whim. "But we're dry. We're able to walk outside and warm ourselves by the fire. But once snow falls, things'll get wet. It'll be nearly impossible to dry the clothing while still having enough to keep warm. The wind will pick up, carrying large amount of snow, and it'll cover our tents and weigh them down. It'll extinguish the fire, and who knows how long the storms will last. We can't expose our skin to the ice or else we'll get frostbite almost immediately." She took a breath. "We need more clothing, blankets, animal hides. The stuff from the ark, made for temp-regulated air, isn't even close to warm enough. We need _coats. _And gloves, boots, hats, scarves. We're only going to get those things from an emergency shelter, like Mount Weather."

Bellamy had followed her with a pensive look, but as soon as she spoke of the mountain, his face contorted. "No way. We'd be walking right into grounder territory." He turned to the crowd and pointed at Jasper. "You remember what happened when we got close?" He then pointed at her, so close his finger was almost touching her chest. "You, too. They're pissed because of us and what we did."

"I'm all for fighting grounders," Jasper piped up, looking unhappy. "But I'm not getting speared again, especially not in the same place. Karma's a fickle bitch."

Clarke frowned. She'd already considered what they were saying, about Mount Weather being centralized in grounder territory, and agreed on how dangerous it was. But she'd weighed the pros and cons all morning, and there was only one logical choice.

"If we do nothing, we freeze to death."

"Then we do something." Bellamy countered in his deep voice. "We get more firewood, we stock it in the dropship. Hell, we can move the fire INTO the dropship." He turned to Raven. "You're a mechanic, right?"

She puffed her chest proudly. "Youngest zero-g mechanic there is."

"Then you can figure out how to direct the smoke from the dropship out into open air, separate from the air inside."

"Sure," Raven said. "Easy."

"Good." Bellamy turned back to Clarke. "We can use the fire to keep the dropship warm. It'll be tight, but we can all sleep in there."

Clarke saw merit in his idea, but knew it wouldn't last them very long. "And food? We won't be able to hunt in the coming weather, not without gear. And the dropship's way too small to live in. Sleep, maybe, but we can't stay there for the entire winter. The metal walls will turn to ice and one fire won't be able to fuel the entire thing. We'll need isolation, something we'll only be able to find in an emergency shelter."

"She's right." Finn added, stepping out from behind the crowd of whispering voices. Clarke felt a dull pain in her chest as they gained eye contact. "Our rations are close to nil. We have one week left, tops. Hunting can work, but only if we have a smoke house, something we can't move from camp to the dropship. We're going to be spending a lot of time outdoors, and if this morning was any indication, it's that our bodies aren't meant for the cold. We need proper equipment. Dying while trying to survive is better than dying while sitting here and doing jackall."

Bellamy glared and took a step towards him. His jaw was clenched. "We're not going. It's too dangerous, and we can't lose any more men."

"Says who?" Finn challenged, eyes narrowed as he moved even closer to Bellamy. He opened his mouth to argue but Clarke held out her arm and pushed him back.

"I'll go."

"What?" Bellamy gaped in surprise, then annoyance. "Do you have a death wish?"

"I can make it." Clarke insisted, shivering. No one else seemed to be as convinced of the dire need for supplies as she was, so why drag them along? Whether one person or a group of people were caught by grounders, it didn't matter; the result would be the same. They'd die. They didn't need to put more people at risk than needed. "I won't be able to bring much back, but I can tell you what's there, and if it's worthwhile. If it is, we can get a bigger team together and go out again."

"Like hell you are." Bellamy said, leaving no room for argument. He stepped back and took a deep breath. "First we build the fire. If it doesn't work, we figure out something else."

"It'll be too late." Clarke insisted in aggravation. "If I go now, we'll have time to grab the supplies needed for the winter _before_ it starts to snow. If we wait, we'll have to travel _through_ the snow, unprepared and freezing."

Bellamy turned to the group of kids. "Start gathering firewood. Get anything; leaves, branches, logs. Raven, head to the dropship and figure out the vent system." The mechanic did a little salute and ran off, followed by a few others. A couple teens began wandering towards the trees.

"I have to go." Clarke said, louder. "I'm not going to sit around and wait until we begin to freeze."

Bellamy closed his eyes and inhaled, then looked at her seriously. "Look, princess. If you get killed, we won't have a doctor. No one else knows anything about medicine."

_What?_

She tried to form an answer as Bellamy continued. "You've seen how fast people get injured down here. Until others from the Ark come, you're all we've got." He frowned. "You saved Jasper. You found that seaweed, the one that works as an dressing. The _grounders_ even needed your help. We need you to stay alive. I don't care if you want to be a hero. If you're so convinced we need to head to the mountain, get someone else to go. Someone that's not you."

Clarke felt she'd been slapped. If what Bellamy was saying was his sad attempt at a compliment, she was getting the backhand of it. Is that all she was good for? Telling people what to do when they were hurt? Sure, she'd picked up some tips from her mom at the med bay, but most of it was common knowledge. It wasn't her fault that everyone else had their head in the clouds. What if she wasn't as useful? Would it matter if she died or not?

She took a quick look around Bellamy and saw that most people had dispersed. She'd meant what she'd suggested, going out alone. She was willing to take the chance because she knew she was right about the upcoming cold. But it did sting a little, that the only one who had anything to say about her leaving was Bellamy. She'd thought they'd been getting a little closer, lately... maybe almost friends. But he saw her as a utility. Something to keep the camp running so that he could continue his leadership. Just like Finn, using her to pass the time. He'd already walked off with Raven, completely oblivious.

She felt defeated and hurt. "Fine." She muttered, tired of arguing. It didn't seem like they could agree on anything, and the more she bickered, the worse it got. "I won't go," she lied. "We'll transfer everything to do dropship for now, and once winter comes, we'll go from there."

Bellamy looked a little surprised, but he shrugged warily and muttered a sort of 'okay'. As he walked away, she headed to the edge of camp, feeling drained. What Bellamy had said was blunt, but it was the truth. And the truth hurt. They needed her for her skills, nothing more.

She wandered to where the young boy's body had been covered by a thin tarp, needing something to distract her from herself. It looked like he was crying out, trapped under the surface as the outline of his face and lips clung to the material. She hated that they couldn't bury him, that he had to lie in the corner of the camp where everyone - young kids included - walked by, a reminder of how the one hundred teens who'd landed on earth were now close to eighty. It had only been a few weeks, and already a sixth of the survivors had died off.

"You didn't die in vain." Clarke muttered, cupping her hands and blowing on them. She kicked the ground and removed a small lump of frozen soil, then made a little hole in it with a finger. She plucked a wilted flower and placed in inside the dirt – the best she could do for now – and placed the makeshift vase at the boy's feet. "We're going to survive."

Most kids were too immature to worry about their future on the earth, or simply didn't care, but only a handful knew what their current resources were and how long they'd last. It was easy to make a decision - especially in a crowd - when you had no idea how low the supplies were, and how hard it was to obtain them. They stuck out their hand and received, never questioning where it was coming from. Sure, they'd designated tasks, like smoking the meat or cutting wood, but the state of materials that couldn't be foraged, like matches and gauze, were unknown to most.

Food wasn't the only thing that was scarce. Medical supplies had grown limited, ever since they'd run into grounders. Monty had managed to make a moonshine that served as antiseptic, but they didn't have lots. And wounds needed other medication to heal, not just sterilization. Gauze and dressings were scarce, and antibiotics were almost non-existent. If anyone got an infection, it was a 'cross your fingers and hope for the best' situation. The tools they had were alright, but they had little thread for suturing and most needles had grown dull. Thankfully, no one had a problem reusing the same needles.

The camp expected Clarke to produce miracle cures, diagnose ailments she'd never seen, and perform treatments she'd only read about on paper. It was hard enough with the proper tools, but as they were used and used, it was beginning to resemble the grounders' scenario. Mt. Weather would have dozens of emergency kits, ones stocked full of clean dressings and unopened supplies. If those medical kits and antibiotics were the one thing standing in the way of life and death of anyone else who got hurt, she'd gladly take the risk of running into a grounder. She felt useless without them.

But Bellamy did have a point. If push came to shove, the dropship could work. Uncomfortably so, but it could work. He was thinking of the immediate consequences, and from that perspective, he was right. If everyone stayed in camp, no one would die, no one would freeze. For the time being. The ship would stink and their skin would burn, but it would be manageable.

But close quarters and hot, damp air led to an increase in bacteria spread, something she couldn't fight without dry clothing, fresh food, water, and medicine. There wasn't an immediate need for these things, but give it a week, and there would be.

_Ugh._

Clarke was still muttering to herself when she realized it was almost noon, and she had to change the dressings on a girl who'd gotten cut patrolling the bush. She started to walk towards the dropship when she heard a giggle come from one of the tents, followed by a bustle of movement and a loud thump into the mesh wall. She jumped in surprise, knocking against one of the poles and tumbling to the ground.

She was rubbing her head when Finn poked his face out the flap with a look of surprise. "Clarke? What are you doing?"

It took her a second to realize that it was his tent. "Nothing." She said, standing and brushing the frost off her pants. She glanced at him in embarrassment. "I was just making sure the boy out back was covered. People shouldn't have to see a body lying on the ground every time they walk by."

It was then that she noticed his lack of a shirt, or pants, for that matter. He was standing in his boxers, nothing else. His cheeks were flushed, lips red and chafed around the edges, and his hair was tussled in a way that could only indicate one thing. Clarke felt a sudden pain in her chest as the image appeared in her mind.

"Oh god." She whispered, wincing. She averted her gaze and felt her cheeks burn, guilt and hurt on equal levels. "I didn't realize you were-"

"It's fine." Finn muttered, sounding equally embarrassed. He looked back into his tent and said something, then turned back to Clarke. He paused and exhaled loudly. "I need to talk to you, Clarke." He said. "About before. I didn't get to explain."

Clarke felt herself bristle.

"I didn't tell you because it didn't matter at the time." He continued, lowering his voice to a whisper. "We were supposed to die down here, you know that. It was like entering a new world, one where our past wasn't relevant." He took a step closer and stared at her with open, pleading eyes. "I'm not asking you to forget what happened. What we did was special, and I don't regret it in the least. I still care about you, Clarke. A lot."

"What?" Clarke felt her blood begin to boil as reality sunk in, him begging for forgiveness in the nude, mid-way through having sex with someone else. "Are you joking?" She asked, eyes ablaze. A fire had filled her veins and she felt nothing but anger and disbelief. "How can you say it didn't matter?" She hissed. "Of course it mattered! What did you think, you were never going to see anyone ever again? That being sent to the ground made it okay to fuck anyone you wanted, as a last ditch effort before you died?"

He held up his hands. "Calm down, Clarke. You know that's not what I-"

"But it is!" She yelled. "It's exactly what you meant! You thought that she'd never find out, and that until she came down, I'd be a great replacement. A placeholder in whatever you had going on back on the Ark." Clarke took a deep, shaky breath. "Does she even know?"

Finn paled. "I was going to tell her..."

Clarke laughed bitterly, then sighed. "You know, Finn, I don't care. About you, about any of it. Raven has the right to know, not because I want her to see me as the girl you used while she was gone, but because she trusts you. And you should be man enough to tell her the truth before she finds it out from someone else. She deserves to hear it from you." Giving him one last glance and turning away, she felt a part of her breaking away. "I deserved the truth, too." She muttered softly. "But it's too late."

* * *

Bellamy zipped up his fly as he walked back to his tent, shivering and cursing the frigid air. If the plan for the dropship went well, he'd talk to Raven about installing some sort of outhouse on one of the lower levels. It was inhumane to have to drop your pants in zero degree weather. For god's sake, there'd been snow in his boxers. No one deserved to have to shake snow from their boxers in the dark.

He rubbed his eyes with a fist and stifled a yawn. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but it felt like the middle of the night. The entire camp was silent, including the usual guards on shift; they'd decided that, for the time being, until they could work out a heat system, they'd reduce the night shifts to segmented checks between dusk to dawn. It was too cold to have to stand in the wind for hours on end. Besides, frostbitten soldiers were too concerned with their own discomfort to keep a watchful eye for grounders.

He did a quick scan of the camp lines to check for movement - not expecting anything - and when clear, headed back to his quarters. He had a few ladies waiting for him, a definite way to keep warm during the winter.

Suddenly there was a snap, like the sound of a twig breaking, and Bellamy froze, dropping into a crouch. His fingertips touched the icy ground and he frowned, briefly thinking of how convenient it would be to have gloves. But he shoved the thought aside and stilled his breathing, hoping to hear another sound. It was impossible to see more than a few feet ahead at night, especially when the moon was only waning.

Sure enough, seconds later, there was another snap, this time closer to where he crouched. He listened and heard the sound of soft footsteps moving from within the camp towards the perimeter's edge and the barriers they'd set up. Bellamy frowned. Had someone gotten in while he'd been in the forest? But there'd been no screams, no indications of attack, and he'd only been a moment. Maybe someone was just sneaking out, or was really embarrassed to be seen taking a piss.

He followed the footsteps as quietly as possible until he got to the entrance of one of the tunnels, holes they'd dug for easy travel in and out of the camp walls. The black silhouette entered and crunched through the leaves, moving quick and swift without a single falter in their step. They'd been through the tunnels before, that was for sure. Meaning it was someone from their camp.

Bellamy hesitated, wondering if following them was the best idea. He himself had just used the very same tunnel to get to the woods, and if someone had stalked him and hidden in the bushes as he'd relieved himself, he would've beat them to death. He didn't want to be dubbed camp pervert, either. But everyone knew that leaving camp at night was unadvised, and if something attacked them, they'd be grateful Bellamy was there to help, pants down or not.

He slunk through the tunnels with ease and saw the shadow exit into the forest. As he squinted, he noticed that they were carrying something that looked like a backpack; pretty big and bulky. An uneasy feeling washed over him as he continued walking. They weren't taking a washroom break at all.

They were leaving camp.

_What an idiot!_ Bellamy exclaimed, opening his mouth. He was ready to give them a piece of his mind when he stopped in his tracks, eyes wide with disbelief. The person had passed through a clearing in the trees, one open to the moonlight, and he'd caught a glimpse of the back of their head.

A head with long, blonde curls.

_Clarke._


	11. Dissociation

Don't hate me.

* * *

_You should've told someone you were going, stupid._ Clarke scolded herself, trudging through deep brush_. I wonder how long it'll take them to notice you're gone. _She'd been hiking for a little over six hours since leaving camp mid-night and the day was starting to break. A warm, orange haze was spreading through the trees like fire, chasing the darkness away and leaving sparkling dew drops in place. She couldn't help smiling as she held up her hand to shield her eyes from the blinding light; it was beautiful.

Back on the Ark, she remembered the times when her mother and father would bring her to the sky deck and the three of them would watch as the sun rose. The earth would be in total darkness, when the glowing orb would peak from its side and burn like a giant, orange star. The entire rim would glow orange and yellow and slowly creep over the rest of the earth. Their faces would be brightly lit and her father would always pick her up and twirl her around as she giggled and saw nothing but the sun. Her mother would tell her stories and pretend that the three of them were on earth, sitting in a field or a mountain or a city and watching the sun rise from where they stood.

Clarke felt a bitter sadness as she thought of her mother.

A chorus of birds rang overhead and she glanced upwards, shaking the thoughts of home, and watched as a few speckled, small birds with pointed beaks flitted through the trees, bobbing up down, up down. They were different than the ones she'd read about - these ones had longer bodies, narrower heads, and sets of three or four wings, not two. Another mutation, she supposed. As extraordinary as it was to see living creatures survive and create ecosystems in a once dying forest, she couldn't help wonder why some had survived and some hadn't. There were supposed to be dozens of animals living throughout the woods, and yet they were sparse and rare. They'd managed to catch larger animals, like deer and panther, but most of the herbivores were nowhere to be found.

_And last time I checked, _she thought, _panthers weren't native to North America._

Clarke decided to take a quick stop and pull out her map, just to make sure she was on the right course. Now that she could actually see the lines without using a flashlight and attracting swarms of flies, it'd be a lot easier. She'd decided on taking a path different to the one they'd taken on their first day down, the one where Jasper had been speared through the stomach. She wanted to avoid open areas surrounded by high trees, where grounders could lurk with prepped bows.

She held her ruler to Mount Weather and positioned it to where she assumed she was, about ten kilometers east of the river. The path she was taking would cost her an hour or two, but it was safer than crossing the river directly. She'd round the bank until she reached a more shallow area, based on the way the mountains sloped, and hopefully cross it without much difficulty. She was nearly there; only twenty minutes or so until she reached the bend, and then she'd have another few hours hiking uphill until she could get to the emergency shelter. If it still existed. And wasn't crawling with grounders.

After sipping her water and eating a handful of nuts, she took off with determination. She couldn't wait to see the look on Bellamy's face when she returned, as many med supplies as a person could carry. Maybe she'd stash them in one of Finn's caches, and wait until their supplies began to full-on dwindle, making Bellamy squirm and realize he'd been shortsighted. But she wasn't that kind of person; to be honest, she wished he would've been okay with her plan. She understood that it was dangerous, but it wasn't reckless. It was more reckless to try and wait out a season that lasted more than four months, especially when they had no idea how long the temperatures could drop and what the animals did when that happened. She would've preferred the company, and maybe even someone to watch her back. Out here, she was completely on her own.

She grinned when she reached the river, shielded by dense canopy that made it impossible for her to walk into an ambush. The possibility of grounders IN the trees was plausible, but it wouldn't be like last time. This river ran through the forest, connecting with the wider section that Jasper had swung over as the trees spread out and thinned. A few feet away it dropped lower and lower, leading to rapids and a much faster current. The water appeared to be thigh-deep and quick, but only a meter or two wide, making for easy passage.

Clarke removed her jacket and pulled her tank top over her head, stuffing it in her knapsack. She wiggled out of her pants and threw them in, too, followed by her runners. The chilly breeze made her entire body break out in goosebumps. She wasn't too comfortable wading through water half-naked, but it was still frosty out, and she'd only brought half a change of clothes. She didn't want to end up like the boy who'd gotten caught in the cold front without protection.

Once her bag was full, she walked to the highest part of the river bank and clenched the strap in both hands, preparing to throw it across the water. If she missed, she'd lose her gear, but if she slipped while carrying it through the water, the result would be just as bad. This way, she could cross without having to focus on keeping the bag dry, and wouldn't have to worry about hauling a soaking wet, ten-ton sac from the water.

She took a deep breath, leaned back, and launched it over the river.

Whump. It landed on the other side with a smack. Clarke smiled in satisfaction.

Now it was her turn.

She jumped down from the ledge and prepared to step into the rushing water, wincing. It'd be cold, much colder than any dip she'd taken in the lake since arriving. They usually washed themselves with rags dipped in lake water, but when her hair needed washing, she'd go to the lake where they collected the red algae and wash up there. It was generally mid-day, though, by the time she got around to bathing, and the water was warm from the sun beating down all day. This water, however, wasn't still and didn't absorb any heat; it was coming from the mountain, the coldest source of water there was, and was bound to feel like ice.

Clarke took a deep breath and stepped in.

"Fuck!" She yelped, resisting the urge to jump right back out. Her entire body seized on edge and felt like it'd been filled with ice water. She squeezed her fists together and took a few more steps, slowly wading in until her thighs were fully immersed. "Fucking cold."

Clarke did a quick sweep with her eyes to make sure no one was watching from above, then continued across the river, taking small steps. Dammit, was it cold. But it'd soon be over, and then she'd grab her clothes, huddle under a blanket, and rub herself warm until she was able to walk again.

She inched forward and tested the current, which was strong, but manageable from where she stood. Swimming against it would be close to impossible, but walking was alright. It almost tickled in a cold, scraping way, as it chilled her skin and made her shiver in discontent. She clenched her jaw in concentration and ignored the way it felt like ice had replaced her skin. _What I'd do for a bubble bath right about now._

She felt the muddy ground squish beneath her feet and uttered a silent prayer, hoping nothing lived in the waters below. She'd left her socks on for just that reason; it was doubtful that aquatic creatures could keep up with the current, but that didn't mean there weren't sharp bits and pieces lodged in the dirt. The last thing she wanted was to cut herself on something unknown and potentially living. Like a carcass.

She shuddered.

Clarke continued until she was two-thirds of the way across, ignoring the uneven terrain beneath her feet and the possibilities her imagination was throwing her way. Sometimes she wished she hadn't read so much as a kid. _Mom said it'd help me,_ she mused_. But sometimes ignorance is bliss._ She felt a seaweed-like texture beneath her toes and stepped to the left, hoping to avoid it.

That's when the ground disappeared.

She screamed as she lurched forward and tumbled into the river with a loud splash, her foothold gone. Her entire body vanished into the stream and was immersed in icy, rushing water. The cold struck her hard. It was like a dozen freezing shards popping through her skin and into her veins at once. She went still for a moment, shocked, then felt her adrenaline surge and kicked her feet until she broke the surface. She raised her head, coughing, and tried to stand, but there was nothing below her feet and the current was too strong. Rushing water was past her shoulders and she didn't have enough momentum to push back.

She yelped in pain as something solid smacked her in the shoulder and sent her tumbling even more, gasping and choking and swallowing gulps of the river. Everything was a blur; blue and white and green, all blending into a distorted mess. She couldn't tell which way was up. Her hair was like thick yellow kelp, plastered over her eyes and filling her vision with nothing but darkness. She violently shook it from her eyes as she tried to keep her head above ground, getting pushed farther down the stream.

Suddenly her surroundings were clear. Painfully clear. The river's geography popped into her head and she felt a surge of panic; the rapids. The current was picking up strength as it dragged her closer and closer to the junction she'd been avoiding, the spot where river turned to rapids and rushed over sharp rocks with immesurable speed. There was no way to survive that trip. She'd be sliced like meat.

She began to flail harder, kicking her legs and splashing about as quick as she could. She kept trying to regain her footing but she could only touch the ground with her toes, and the current's momentum was pushing her too fast. She clawed at the river bank in attempt to latch on to one of the rocks, but nothing seemed to hold. She let out yelps as she bobbed up and down, under and through the water that rushed all around her head.

"Help!" She yelled, fighting the current and kicking against the water as hard as she could. The river had began to slope downwards and she could tell by the trees lining the bank that she would soon reach the rapids. "Help!"

Suddenly she heard a voice. "Clarke!"

Clarke twisted her head painfully and saw Bellamy standing on the side of the stream, a long branch in hand. He was stretched outwards so that it extended halfway across the water. "Clarke!" He shouted. "Grab the branch!"

She took a deep breath and dove under, silencing the screams of terror as she willingly abandonned her vision. She swam diagonally, holding her breath while trying to get as close to the right side as possible, and focused on the wobbly-looking branch in front of her. Once her lungs started to burn and she could no longer hold herself down, she burst from the water and grabbed the stick, clinging to it for dear life. Bellamy pulled her towards him with his arm outstretched, then grabbed her cold, soaking hand and hauled her out of the river. She collapsed on the bank.

"Thank you." She gasped, coughing up water. Her shoulders shook as she took in oxygen and struggled to keep herself upright with her weak limbs. Her chest was on fire and every muscle in her body ached, but sweet relief silenced it all. "Thank you."

He threw off his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing her back as she choked up the rest of the water in her lungs. She huddled into it graciously, the material soft against her icy body, panting and still struggling to catch her breath. Once her heart rate slowed and her throat was raw, the adrenaline trickled out and her outer senses began rushing in; the sharp pain in her spine, the pounding headache, and the way her body shook. She was COLD. Her hands were tinted blue and it seemed like her skin was trying to shake its way off her wet, miserable body.

Bellamy kneeled next to her with a look of concern on his face, his skin white and fearful. "Are you okay?" He asked. He was panting, too, as if he'd just run a marathon. "Are you hurt?"

"I-I don't think so." She said shakily, rubbing at her arms and legs. They felt hard and heavy, like they were weighed down with lead. The outside skin had lost sensation completely. "Just cold. Really cold." She shivered and turned to look at him. "What are you doing here, Bellamy?" She asked, incredulous. "How did you-?"

"I followed you." He admitted, looking embarassed. He was still staring at her with furrowed, concerned brows, but a bit of red had crept into his cheeks. "I saw you leave last night and knew you wouldn't listen to anything I said."

"Damn right." Clark muttered, shivering. She pulled the jacket closed around herself, and let him use to t-shirt to gently ring the water from her hair. "And you followed me the entire time?"

Bellamy nodded. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "It's dangerous to be alone."

Clarke gave a dry laugh and sighed shakily. "No kidding." She swallowed and eyed him seriously for a few moments. "Seriously, though, thank you. This is the third time you've saved my life."

Bellamy chuckled. "I'm gonna have to start collecting favors."

"You wish." Clarke said, rolling her eyes but biting back a laugh. She then shivered again. Everything was icy, even the ground. "Damn, it's cold."

Bellamy's face turned serious. "_You_ look cold." He said, placing a hesitant hand on her shoulder to check her temperature. Her heart gave a little flutter as his fingertips grazed her bare skin, gentle and warm, leaving a trail of heat in it's wake. "Hell, princess," He muttered, pursing his lips. "You're freezing."

"That's what happens when you fall in a river." Clarke said dryly, curling into herself. She glanced at the bank opposite to where they sat and momentarily mourned the loss of her knapsack. "There was a drop midway through, nowhere on my map. It shouldn't have been there."

Bellamy frowned. "Had you done what I'd told you to do, you wouldn't have nearly drowned. I told you not to leave camp."

"But we need the supplies, Bellamy!" She insisted, voice raising. It seemed impossible to convince him of anything. She was just as capable of making decisions as he was, and just because he was bigger, stronger, didn't mean he got to control her. "Mount Weather is less than ten kilometers away. The river is the only thing standing in our way; no grounders, no reapers, nothing. Sooner or later, we're going to need to make the trip."

He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "It's not a good idea."

"You're scared." Clarke noted, looking into his eyes. They stared back at her, narrowed. "Is this because of what happened with the grounders?"

"I'm not afraid of them." He muttered defensively. He seemed to sway back and forth a little as he reached for something in his pocket. "They're predictable and we have the upper hand. But we need to defend our camp, not split up and get picked off one by one."

Clarke rubbed her eyes as she realized that it was her own vision swaying, not Bellamy. Blurriness wobbled along the edges. "That's why I went by myself."

"And look how well that worked out."

She felt her cheeks grow warm with embarassment. She'd only wanted to prove him wrong, to show him how much they needed the supplies and how hardheaded he'd been. Instead, she'd nearly died, and forced him to come running to her rescue once again. Her own stubbornness was starting to grow tiresome and she couldn't help wondering if he was rubbing off on her. "I'm sorry."

Bellamy looked surprised. "I, uh- good." He grunted. "Don't do it again." He extended a fist full of berries and held them out, changing the subject. "You should eat."

She nodded and reached for his hand, but seemed to pass right through it. She frowned and tried again, yielding the same result. Every time she reached for the berries, her vision doubled and she ended up with a handful of air. She looked up at Bellamy with worry. "What's going on?"

Bellamy was baffled. "Here." He said, grabbing her fingers and placing a berry between them. He seemed reluctant to let go. "Are you dizzy?"

"No, I'm-" Clarke stopped as she tried to put the food in her mouth but felt it pressing into her chin. Her head _was_ rather light, and the feeling of cold in her bones had began to subside. She couldn't seem to focus on anything, either. "Huh."

Suddenly she felt herself lurch forwards. She gave a small yelp as Bellamy grabbed her shoulders and pulled her towards him, arms wrapping around her back and her head pressing up against his bare chest. Clarke felt heat burn through his skin and onto her icy face; a hot, stinging sensation. She flushed in embarassment.

"Bellamy, what are you-"

"Your lips are blue." He said gruffly, making no move to let her go. Her heartrate had sped up and felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. The way he held her was too intimate to be comfortable. "I know the signs of hypothermia. You need heat."

Clarke wriggled a bit in protest. "I'm fine, I'm not even cold."

"You're teeth are rattling."

"No, they're not-"

"Come on, princess." Bellamy begged, a tired pleading to his voice. She couldn't see his face but she imagined it was one of strain. "Just listen to me for once, please."

"But I-"

"Please, Clarke." He repeated. She stopped when she heard him use her actual name. It sounded raw. "I can't-" He faltered, then tried again, quieter. "We can't have you dying on us."

She stilled, heart constricting. It wasn't like him to be so worried. "Okay." She mumbled. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth and she began to wonder if maybe he was right. She couldn't remember what the symptoms of hypothermia were but she definitely didn't feel like herself. "Just for a little."

Bellamy seemed to relax, his grip on her easing ever so slightly. He held her close and began gently rubbing the small of her back, also bracing her so that she wasn't in an awkward position. As uncomfortable and embarrassing as it was, she was freezing, and his body heat was slowly thawing her out. The ice was melting from inside her skin and she started to feel a sleepy warmth wash over her body.

She hated herself for it, but at that moment, she didn't want to move. As she shivered against Bellamy's chest and closed her eyes, she felt safe. Protected. Her mind was spinning... but her body was at ease.

* * *

Bellamy waited until Clarke was able to stand on her own before telling her they were going back to camp. He expected resistance but was firm, knowing full well that she wasn't in any shape to hike another ten kilometers uphill while hauling gear. The trek back to camp would be flat and she'd have him for support.

_So stubborn,_ Bellamy muttered to himself, still incredulous over the realization that without him, she would have drowned. All because she'd defied him. They were like magnets, unable to agree on anything. When he pushed, she pulled. When he pulled, she pushed. The gods were watching them from the heavens with grins on their faces and beers in hand. _Bastards._

He'd slipped his arm around her waist so he'd be able to catch her if she faltered again, like she'd done the first few times she'd tried to stand. Her body temperature had raised a little since earlier and her cheeks were regaining color, but he couldn't be too sure. She'd been cold as ice when he'd touched her skin and he didn't know much about hypothermia besides its symptoms. If anything happened along the way, Clarke could relapse and suffer the same fate as the boy Octavia had found.

He briefly wondered what Octavia was doing as he trudged through the trees. She'd been quiet, lately, leaving in the morning with scavenging groups and coming back mid-evening, retreating to her tent. He hadn't spoken to her much besides the odd exchange, and it felt tense; almost like she was keeping something from him. Hopefully it wasn't anything that would send him off the edge. She knew just how to get on his nerves.

Clarke gave a little sigh and he glanced at her, still thinking of his sister. They were a lot alike, the two of them. Both refused to listen to him and what he knew best, both purposely defied his orders just to show him he was wrong. They weren't afraid to get in his face and challenge him in front of the entire camp. In a way, it was annoying as hell, but it was beginning to grow on him. Something about Clarke made him feel different, more protective.

_Like a sister?_ He wondered, pursing his lips. He shook his head. _Yeah, no. _The thought felt wrong, almost immoral. He didn't look at her the same way he looked at Octavia, not at all. He had no familial bond with her. He was definitely protective and willing to go a long way to ensure her safety, but had no idea why, or when he'd come to this realization. Even the random girls he'd slept with hadn't caused him second thought, but Clarke... she was different. She wasn't like them, nor did he want to be with her... well, as far as he knew. He didn't know what he felt anymore, and it was especially hard to tell with her inches away, pressed against his bare chest and wrapped in his jacket, wearing nothing but underwear. It mirrored too many nights he'd spent with other girls and he was trying incredibly hard not to look at anything she wouldn't want him to. He was only human, after all.

_Enough. _He growled. _Focus on the ground. _He narrowed his eyes into slits and clenched his jaw as he concentrated on surveying the surroundings. The sun was still in the sky, a little past mid-afternoon. They'd reach camp by midnight.

"Bellamy?" He turned to see Clarke looking up at him tiredly.

"Yeah?"

She seemed conflicted, chewing on her bottom lip. "I'm not going to walk into camp half naked."

"Sorry, princess," He said, shrugging. "But there's not much I can do. I'm not gonna give you my pants, if that's what you want."

"No, you idiot." Clarke said, rolling her eyes. He noticed the extra red that appeared in her cheeks. "There're some emergency shelters around here, most of which have extra clothes. If we stop by one of them I can change before we head back."

Bellamy looked at her in confusion and frowned. "Around here?"

"A few more miles out. They're all over the forest."

"And you didn't think I ought to know?" Bellamy asked, irritated. "That the camp should know?" This was just another thing she'd kept from him, all to stop him from interfering. "If it has clothes and other supplies, like the one we were stuck in, we could've been using them for shelter and rabbit holes. What the hell were _you_ using them for?"

Clarke turned a deep red color, then shook her head. "We decided that if the items were needed, we'd bring them in. There was no use in providing extra, secret places for kids to run off to in the middle of the night."

"Who's we?" Bellamy grumbled, already knowing the answer. "Finn?"

Clarke's expression said it all. "I'm showing you now, alright? Let it go."

Bellamy grunted in response and resumed walking, reluctant to help her to the cache. She deserved what she brought upon herself. If she wanted to fall in a river and drown just because she wouldn't listen, so be it. He wasn't her caretaker. Why should he have to chase her over hell's-half-acre just to make sure she was safe? What did he get out of it?

_Her. You get her._

_Shut up. _Bellamy cursed, silencing his inner voice. He continued to grumble into open air, wondering how many other things she was keeping secret. He knew his annoyance was misdirected, that half his anger came from his wounded ego and not towards the actual secret itself. He didn't like that she hadn't bothered mentioning it before, that she'd told spacewalker instead of him.

But he knew it made sense; they'd been together, getting it on, and frankly, despite his ever changing feelings, he couldn't understand why he cared so much. Spending time with so many people was making him soft.

"Stop thinking, idiot." He muttered to himself. It was like every thought that popped into his head just served as a way to frustrate him, whether it was his feelings, his fears, or Clarke's nakedness. It had to stop, and it had to stop now. As they approached the forest clearing, he turned to Clarke. "Get what you need." He said in annoyance, not bothering to look her in the eye. "I'll be over there, looking for some of those magic nuts."

* * *

They made it to the shelter momentarily. Clarke quickly slipped into the hatch and down the ladder, soon rummaging through the old, metal crates and pulling out a bundle of clothes. Bellamy stood outside the shelter, not wanting to come down and have her yell at him for peeking. He was tired of people's flack and their sensitivities. It was earth, for fuck's sake; people needed to start toughening up.

He leaned against a tree for a few minutes before sighing and sticking his head into the hatch. "Hurry up, princess. We haven't got all day."

"I'm coming," She replied, voice echoing up the ladder. There was a pause. "I, uh- Just give me a second."

Bellamy groaned. "Do you usually make men wait this long when you to get changed?"

"Bellamy, I'm serious. Shut up."

He frowned at the serious edge to her voice. "Everything alright?"

There was silence for a solid three minutes and he began feeling a little uneasy. If Lady Luck was real, she was working against Clarke today, and Bellamy wasn't going to take any chances. "Clarke?"

No answer. He contemplated heading down when he saw her blonde mat of curls crawling up the ladder. She stepped out, fully dressed. "Let's go."

"Hold on." He caught her arm as she started to walk away. "What was that?"

"What was what?" She asked, trying to feign confusion. He could see right through her and into the stress of her eyes.

"Was there something down there?"

A look of pain flashed across her features for a second before settling back into an unreadable mask. "No."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. "Then you won't mind if I take a look for myself." He said, re-opening the hatch door. "Since there's nothing there."

He started to step into the hole when Clarke grabbed his shoulder, looking panicked. "Please don't." She said, voice almost pleading. Her eyes were wide and wounded.

Bellamy stiffened. "Then tell me."

He expected Clarke to reply with a snide remark, but her face only greyed, looking glum and depressed. Her shoulders drooped a little. "You don't want to know."

Bellamy reached for her chin and tilted it upwards so that he could look straight into her eyes. It was a little rough, but he wanted her to know that he wasn't joking. If something was upsetting her, he'd listen. He was damn tired of the mind games and just wanted the truth. "I do."

She took a step back, reddening, and cursed under her breath. "Fine. I used to come here with Finn."

Bellamy immediately regretted his insistence.

"We came here a bunch of times." She muttered, staring at the ground. She kicked at the earth beneath her feet. "We spent some time together, and, well, it's changed. The hatch, I mean." Her ears were becoming even pinker as she spoke. "There were candles and blankets and... underwear." She whispered the last word so he could barely hear.

Bellamy felt a surge of anger towards Finn, thinking of these 'nights' he and Clarke had spent together. Fucking, obviously. The thought of his hands on her body made him nauseous and he had to look away just to calm down. God, why was he getting so upset? He didn't have to be so fucking protective.

"He brought her down here." Clarke muttered pathetically, sounding numb. Her tone wasn't changing and it sounded as though she were stating facts. "Not days after she landed."

Her voice grew louder. "He told me this would be our place." She said. "And then he goes and does the exact same spiel on her as he did on me." She ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "I'm such an idiot for believing him. And I'm an even bigger idiot for feeling like this. This isn't like me at all."

"Chalk it up to the cold." Bellamy said gently. He knew she wasn't one to get upset over trivial things, but he'd pushed her into identifying her feelings. He wasn't acting too much like himself today, either. "And just pretend you never saw anything. A joker like him doesn't deserve a princess like you."

Clarke leaned against a nearby pine. "I'm not a princess, Bellamy."

Bellamy mustered a grin and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I think it's a little late to reassign nicknames." He inhaled and looked up at the sky, noticing how the sun was beginning to set. He wanted to be back by night so that he could account for what he'd missed the entire day. The camp was probably panicking, now that their two leaders had disappeared. "We gotta get back. You got your clothes, I got my shirt, everything's good."

"Yeah."

He was about to ask her if she felt alright to walk when she spoke. "Bellamy, have you ever loved someone?"

The question caught him off guard, and he cleared his throat. "I, uh-" He scratched his head and grimaced. "In what way?"

"There's only one way." Clarke answered, staring at him intently. He felt his heart-rate speed up.

"If family doesn't count, then no, I guess," He said, shrugging. He didn't know why he felt so embarrassed, besides trying to avoid personal conversations like this. "Why?"

She sighed deeply but still held his gaze, strong and powerful. "Then you don't know what it feels like to have your heart broken."

Bellamy was starting to feel really uncomfortable. "Look, why does this-"

"When your heart gets broken," Clarke continued, ignoring his questions. "It leaves a hole, an empty space that you feel every minute of every day. It hurts." She stepped towards him. "It hurts a lot. And the only thing that can help," She mumbled, taking another step so that they were now only inches apart. "Is finding someone to fill that hole."

"You obviously need to sleep." Bellamy muttered, shaking his head. Maybe the berries he'd given her had similar effects to the strange nuts. "Let's go back, we need to-"

He stopped as she put a hand to his chest and looked at him seriously. "Bellamy, I'm going to kiss you."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows. "Oh, are you now?" He chided, chuckling. He held his hands out in front of him in surrender. "Then maybe you should kiss Miller, too. And Jasper, and-"

"Shut up."

He barely had time to close his mouth before she grabbed his jacket and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

When she'd entered the hatch, it'd felt like she couldn't breathe. Everything was set up the same way it had been when her and Finn had had sex – her first time doing anything that intimate with another human being. It was now all back in place, used, with evidence that he'd been there with Raven. There were even little origami figures around the floor, scattered like they'd been caught in the crossfire.

Clarke had accepted that Finn had moved on. But maybe not as well as she'd thought, or else she probably wouldn't have left camp so abruptly in the middle of the night. Everything she was doing lately was irrational and reminded her of Bellamy, acting on rage and emotion instead of logic. Where was the calm, collected girl who'd landed on earth with a map in hand and a plan in mind? Why was she letting her emotions control her actions?

She hadn't wanted to share her insecurities with Bellamy, who lately seemed bent on pushing her until she broke. They had that effect on each other. But this was different; it was unlike sharing a fear, or a plan, or a worry; it was frivolous drama, unrelated to their survival and illogical to the max. Bellamy didn't want to hear how she'd thought she was special, how she'd let herself believe Finn had put effort into making her first time memorable, when instead it was his usual one night stand go-to arrangement. How he'd cast her off on a day's notice and still been comfortable enough to have sex in the place they'd been together.

And yet she'd told him anyways, too tired to argue. He'd seemed genuine at the time and like he actually wanted to know. But there she was again, trusting someone who'd constantly hurt her in the past and believing he could change. And maybe even feeling something for him, which was terrifying and completely confusing. The more time she'd spent with him, the more she'd been opening up, and the more comfortable she'd felt in his presence. A bud of warmth was starting to grow in her chest and she had no idea what it was or what it meant.

Which was even more frustrating, because if she was beginning to like him, she knew her feelings were unpursuable. And on top of all that, how could she feel so angry towards Finn, about being able to move on at a moments notice, while here SHE was, possibly warming up to someone else. Maybe it was the air, or the hypothermia. Was the radiation finally entering their brains? Had her cells been dying off this entire time, and were finally affecting the part of her brain that controlled impulse control and emotional response?

As she told Bellamy about Finn and felt dumber by the minute, the battle between hopelessness and spite teetered, and anger grew stronger. Something snapped and as she looked at Bellamy, with his strength and safety, she just wanted to forget everything that had happened. She wanted to stop thinking and get everything out, every negative memory and hurt and kiss she'd shared. Clarke had had enough of everyone's bullshit, of people telling her what she could and couldn't do, who she could and couldn't trust, fight, kiss. Of people lying to her. She'd done what they'd wanted her to do her entire life and she just kept getting betrayed, over and over again.

It was her turn to do something she wanted, to ignore the consequences and let loose. Just like the time Monty had offered moonshine to the teens and she'd been too uptight to try it. Everyone else in camp was allowed to, so why couldn't she? Why couldn't she do what Finn had done, and forget herself completely, indulging in whatever stupid actions she wanted?

So that's exactly what she did.

She felt dissociated, like she was leaving her body and watching from the sidelines. There were two Clarkes; one who had cast all thoughts aside, and one who floated above, screaming at her inhibitionless self in horror.

She took a step closer to Bellamy and grabbed the sides of his jacket, pulling him towards her with a violent tug so that their faces were inches apart. He opened mouth in protest, ready to object, when she pressed her lips to his, hard. Her pulled away in surprise, but immediately kissed her back, parting his lips in response and spinning her around so that he could slam her back up against the tree. She felt his hot breath in her mouth and moaned a little as he placed both hands on either side of her head, taking control. He let his tongue slip between her lips and she did the same, tasting sweet and bitter and arousal all in one. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pressed him closer, so tight she couldn't breathe, inhaling his breath and letting her eyes roll back.

He broke the kiss for a moment and flipped her onto her back, straddling her as he pulled his shirt over his head. She raised her hips and pressed herself into him, making him groan in surprise. She felt him throb as she ground deeper. Her face was burning, her skin was on fire, and her head was dizzy with pleasure. There wasn't a single thought going through her mind besides desire. She needed him. She needed him against her and on her and touching her and breathing her and enveloping her. She needed his stability, for she herself felt like she'd break. She was focusing on nothing but the warm touch of his fingers beneath her shirt and the electricity between their two bodies.

They kissed until her lips were raw and she couldn't stand it anymore. She reached for his belt and began fumbling with the buckle, trying to undo it as he lay a trail of kisses along her neck, hot breath caressing her skin. She'd almost gotten it undone when he grabbed her hand and pushed her backwards. "What are you doing?" He asked, panting.

Clarke blinked a few times, dazed. "I want you."

Bellamy ran a hand through his hair and inhaled deeply. "Since when?"

"Since now." She frowned, reaching for his buckle yet again. He swatted her hand away. "I want to forget, Bellamy. I want to forget everything. I thought you wanted this, too."

Bellamy's eyes narrowed. "You thought wrong." He muttered, glowering in the dusk. "I don't want this at all." Conflicted emotions flashed across his face - strain, anger, pain - and she tried to reach for him but he shook his head and stood.

"I'm not like that, Clarke."

"Like hell you're not!" Clarke exclaimed, suddenly shrill. She felt unstable, and his rejection had struck her like a brick wall. "You have naked girls in your tent every night. You're trying to tell me they all mean something to you? That you care about them?"

"They mean nothing," Bellamy grit his teeth together. "And you-" He rubbed the back of his neck violently, then shook his head. "I'm not spacewalker's rebound." He spat. "I don't know if you hit your head in the river, but the Clarke I know wouldn't throw herself at any random guy just because she got dumped. I'm not going to sleep with you just so you can pretend you're over him."

Clarke sank to the ground, cheeks burning. "I wasn't-"

"Get some sleep." He said coldly, removing the bag of berries from his pocket and throwing it at her feet. Even in anger, he still felt concerned for her safety. He hated it. "You obviously need it. I'll see you in camp when you stop acting like a child and start acting like a leader."

And with that he took off, leaving her alone in the darkness.


	12. Taken

Omg, it's a Christmas miracle. I was getting a ton of notifications for this story and even though I'd lost momentum with it because of school and all, I felt inspired to continue. I hope to write a bunch more chapters over the break and continue into the new year. Thank you for your reviews, alerts, and favorites; they're what make me want to write :3 (plus my depression from the mid-season finale *bawls*)

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Bellamy was sitting in his tent when Octavia came in, bouncy as all hell.

"What's up, big bro?" She asked, dropping into a crouch. Her smile was a little too bright for his liking but he was too tired to care. At least one of them had had a good day. "You look pissed."

"Go away, O." He muttered, rolling over so that his back was facing her. He'd had enough women for one day. "I'm not in the mood."

"I can see that." She joked. "I'm surprised, though. I don't see the usual harem of naked girls sneaking out of your tent. What's it been, like ten hours?"

"Ha, ha." Bellamy said dryly. It seemed he was getting a reputation. "It's been twenty four, actually." He waved his hand dismissively and shut his eyes. "Now get out."

She ignored him. "I thought you'd like to know that Miller's been teaching me how to use a spear, and I'm pretty good. I've been hitting every target and I even helped catch dinner tonight. It's a little gamey, but not bad for pig." She sighed. "I wish we'd had pork on the Ark, don't you?"

Bellamy felt a surge of irritation at the thought of Octavia wandering the woods without backup. "Miller should have checked with me first."

"It's hunting, Bell, nothing dangerous." She rolled her eyes his way and kicked off her shoes. "Besides, I was with the others. The boar didn't stand a chance. Wanna know how we trapped it?"

Bellamy groaned. She wasn't leaving. "Octavia, I'm trying to sleep."

"Before dinner?" She asked in confusion, peaking over his rolled body to stare at him upside down. Her long hair smacked him in the face. "Are you sick or something?"

"No."

"Wait a sec." A wide smile began stretching so far across her cheeks it looked painful. "You were out with Clarke, weren't you?" She stifled a giggle and looked at him slyly. "The whole camp noticed you were gone before breakfast, both of you. Some wondered if you'd gone to Mount Weather, but others..."

"Does it _look_ like we came back with supplies?" He interjected. "Like I told all of you, it's too dangerous. If the grounders aren't already watching us, they're definitely on high alert."

"Ah ha!" Octavia pointed a finger at him, smug. "So you _were_ with her!"

"So what, Octavia?" Bellamy groaned, ready to push her out of the tent himself. She hadn't talked to him for days and _now_ was the time she chose to be chatty. "I'm not gonna ask you again. Get out."

"Did she reject you when you told her?"

Bellamy stopped, confused. He turned around to face her with a guarded expression. She had the tact of an elephant, but it didn't work on him. "Told her what?" He asked, slowly.

Octavia grinned and placed a hand over her chest. "That you _looove_ her."

Bellamy grit his teeth. "I don't, nor is it any of your business." He looked her right in the eye and momentarily wondered what it would have been like to have had a brother. "You need to get your head out of the clouds and focus on surviving, O. The more people start to understand that, the better chance we'll have of building a home here."

"Come on, Bell," Octavia groaned, staring at him with her big round eyes. "Relax for a minute. You don't have to lie to me, protect me - I'm not a stupid little kid anymore. Everyone knows you like her, even the dense ones, like Jasper." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "You haven't looked at anyone like that since mom."

"Was that supposed to be as creepy as it sounded?"

Octavia rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean." She reached over to pat his shoulder. "I knew you'd tell her sooner or later, but she's just as pig-headed and stubborn as you. Are you brooding your butt off because she rejected you? Or did you chicken out?"

"Neither." Bellamy growled, standing and crossing his arms over his chest. He'd had enough; the conversation was over. He held the flap open and waved her through it. "Get back to work or go to sleep, I don't care. Just stay out of my tent."

"You never could admit your feelings to anyone." Octavia shook her head sadly, walking towards the firepit. "You don't have to tell me, but try admitting them to yourself sometime, Bell. It's embarassing when everyone knows you better than you do."

He groaned. What a pain.

Octavia was almost out of sight when she turned around one last time.

"And just so you know," She shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth. "I'm rooting for you, big brother! You can do it!"

_Hell._ Bellamy rubbed his face in aggravation. As if that conversation had even happened.

And with that she left, leaving him more exhausted and annoyed than before. He needed to shoot something.

Octavia strode back to the campfire smugly, feeling satisfied with the reaction she'd pulled from her brother. He was such a hard-ass, always trying to prove to others that he was all work and no play, but she knew differently. He had a soft side. They'd had a tough upbringing and after the death of their mother, he'd lost his usual warmth and had buried it away behind thick walls. It was still there, though, especially around her. Just not as openly.

But she wanted him to feel that way around others, too. He'd spent his entire life protecting her from the world, but now that she was learning to fight for herself, she didn't need to be babied. The only way he'd give her space was if he found someone else to protect, someone of equal importance. And she felt that Clarke was his best bet. Even if he had yet to realize it, the two were identical – in mannerisms and vulnerability – and needed to lean on each other if they wanted the camp to succeed. They were both too stubborn to take the first leap of faith, though, and needed a nudge from an outer party. Maybe a kick in the behind.

She wanted to do it for him, even if he'd hate her for it for the time being. Something had happened between him and Clarke, something bad, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. She would come up with a way to bring them together if it was the last thing she did.

"Octavia!"

She grinned as she heard Miller's voice come up behind her.

"Did you find one?" She asked, heart speeding up. She looked at his hands and lit up inside when she saw the familiar white flower in his hand. "You did!"

Miller rolled his eyes. "I don't get why he chooses white; I've yet to seen a single one that color while on patrol. Shouldn't he pick something that blends in better, y'know, easier to find? Less obvious?"

Octavia shook her head. "That's what makes them rare," She explained, taking it from him and tucking it behind her ear. "And special. People don't collect dirt, do they?" She tried to contain the fluttering in her stomach and tossed him his payment. "Where was it this time?"

"By the west wall," He said, jerking a thumb over his head. "A couple trees back."

"Thanks, Miller." She said, throwing her arms around him and squeezing tight. She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and was ready to jog when she felt him grab her sleeve.

"You know your brother's going to kill me if he finds out, right?" Miller said, brows creased with worry. "He won't even listen. He'll just put my head on a stick and use it as a warning."

Octavia rolled her eyes. "He wouldn't do that." She assured, briefly wondering if her words were true. As the days grew harder on earth, he'd been forced to do some pretty awful things that fought against his true nature. "Besides," She said, placing a hand on Miller's shoulder. "He'll never find out."

"I damn well hope so." Miller muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He clasped the baggy of crystals between his fingers and squeezed, relief flushing his brain. "For both our sakes."

Lincoln had been insisting they spend their nights in the hatch, so that's where they would meet. He said it was to keep her safe, since he could easily be followed and the cave had no locking mechanism, but she knew he was embarrassed by the primitive nature of his home. How different it was to the sterile floors she'd used to sleep on. He'd put away the drying animal hides, hidden the insect jars, and she'd even caught him trying to make her a pillow out of goose feathers and panther fur.

Whatever the reason, though, she let it go. It wasn't up to her to change how he felt - she could only stand by his side and be of support.

As she ran to him and threw herself into his arms, he handed her an origami dog, and she grinned.

"It's adorable." She gushed, kissing him lightly on the lips. Finn and Miller were the only others who knew about Lincoln, and Finn had stopped by a few times to ask about grounders and their history. In exchange for the info that seemed to fascinate him beyond comprehension, he'd been teaching Lincoln how to make little origami figures, ones he seemed to scatter everywhere. "Thank you."

"I think I'm getting better." Lincoln said, eyes lit from inside. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "Have my signals been easy to find?"

Octavia nodded. "Yup." She'd been using Miller - who patrolled the lines throughout the day -as a watchguard for Lincoln's signals. In exchange, she gave him a crystalline substance, one derived from a cactus-like plant Lincoln collected from the other side of the river. The root was used as a natural soothant – similar to aloe – but the juice produced a calming, sedative affect, almost like heroin. She'd been giving the dried juice crystals to Miller in order to get him to keep an eye out during his patrols. She felt a little guilty, but Lincoln assured her the stuff wasn't dangerous, and she couldn't be seen walking the lines at night looking for flowers. Bellamy wouldn't buy it for a second and would quickly discover what she'd been up to.

He'd probably never guess she was sleeping with a grounder, though.

She wanted to tell him, she really did, but he was going through a rough time, leading everyone in camp, and he didn't need the extra strain. Plus, there was no way in hell he'd let her date, especially not a grounder. He'd try to kill Lincoln and probably get killed in the process. She had faith in her brother's abilities and all, but Lincoln had grown up in a world where fighting for survival was all he knew. His body was able to take blows in places normal humans couldn't, and he was a lot more built than most, too.

"You're quiet tonight." Lincoln remarked, stroking the top of her head gently. He pressed his thumb to her forehead and rubbed at it. "Thinking?"

Octavia nodded and gave a soft smile. "I wish we didn't have to meet in secret." She left her eyes drift to the stone floor, watching as the candle light flickered in patterns along the grey. "It'd be so much easier if everyone knew... if my brother knew."

Lincoln pulled her into an embrace. His strong arms filled her with calm and she inhaled his woody scent. "It is easier like this, Octavia. They do not understand how some of us are different than our people. That we do not all wish to engage in battle."

"I knew right away." Octavia said, nuzzling into his neck. "And if I could tell, others can, too. It'll just take time."

"Time is not something we have."

She turned so that she could look into his eyes. "What do you mean?" She asked, searching his gaze for an emotion besides strength, love. "Winter'll be tough, but we'll get through it."

"No..." Lincoln shook his head slowly and glanced at one of the origami figures he'd made, a wolf. "Not the cold."

"Then what?" Octavia pursued, frowning. She admired his intelligence, his calming presence, his knowledge about earth... but hated when he kept things from her. He did it in a way that wasn't dishonest, but like handing her half the puzzle without mentioning that there was more. "Lincoln, if something's happening, you have to tell me."

He sighed. "It's nothing you don't know. My people do not take kindly to attack, as your leaders discovered. They are war-oriented, and when their leader is killed in cold blood, they will not retreat. The commander of this region's tribe will come from the North, and they will sought after your friends' blood. Your blood."

Octavia inhaled. Bellamy and Clarke had narrowly escaped the grounder's camp and everyone knew war was on the horizon. They were torn between preparing for attack and preparing for winter, without a way to know which would come first.

She straightened and raised her hand so that it gently cupped his chin, one of the patches rougher than the rest. Their eyes met, and she asked the question she knew he had the answer to. "How long?"

Her words hung in the air for minutes before Lincoln let out a breath and spoke. It was barely a whisper but it clung to her skin like ice.

"Five days."

Octavia let out a curse. Five days didn't give them much time to prepare. But it was better than nothing. She needed to let Bellamy know.

"They'll come from the Northern plains." Lincoln continued, brushing a stray hair from her brow. He looked remorseful, solemn, as if he were personally responsible for the violence of his people. "They are skilled warriors. Their commander is strong and does not back down when one of her own is attacked, especially her second in command. She will not hesitate to strike, even those who do not fight back."

Biting her lower lip, she glanced up at him. "We _will_ fight." She said. "All of us. We may not have been born on the ground, but it was once our home, too. I'm sure our people will soon try again for peace, but right now, even Clarke agrees; retaliation isn't an option."

Lincoln nodded sadly. "People will die."

"I know." Octavia whispered. She rested her head against his chest and inhaled, breathing in the warm glow the candles cast on her skin and the heat of his body. If only this was earth in its entirety: love, warmth, shelter. Peace. "I gotta tell Bellamy." She said. "Even if he gets mad at me, he has to know we don't have much time."

"Mm." Lincoln grunted. He pulled her closer and she felt his lips trail the side of her neck, leaving tiny electric sparks in their wake that went straight down her spine. She relaxed a little, ready to kiss him back, when suddenly his entire core went rigid.

"What's wrong?" Octavia asked as Lincoln sat upright, craning his neck towards the hatch door. "What is it?"

"I heard something." The grounder stood and quickly pulled himself up the metal ladder, pressing his ear to the shelter door. His face was taught with concentration as he inhaled sharply and yanked his knife from his belt. "Mountain Men."

"Who?" She felt a rush of panic at the fear in Lincoln's eyes. He wasn't easily perturbed, not even by reapers. "How can you tell?"

Lincoln shook his head and put a finger to his lips. "Something's wrong." He whispered, muscles straining. His knuckles were white around the shaft of his dagger. "The noise has stopped." Slowly, he twisted the latch to the hatch door and gently pushed it up a crack. "Wait for me here. I'll be back."

"Lincoln, no-" Octavia began, but it was too late. He'd already disappeared through the door and as quickly as he'd left, shut the door behind him.

Bellamy was returning from a quick hunt with a few others when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder and turned around. He took a step back and bristled when he saw it was Spacewalker, looking more clueless than usual. "What?" Bellamy grunted. He really wasn't in the mood.

"Have you seen Clarke?" Finn asked.

"Nope." Bellamy shrugged and started walking in the opposite direction, but Finn just jogged up alongside him.

"There are some kids who hurt themselves, out by the thicker trees." He motioned to the eastern horizon. "Nothing bad, but she should take a look. Some of the cuts probably have to be stitched and I'm pretty bad with a needle."

"I don't know where she is." Bellamy repeated curtly. He was annoyed with Clarke, but even more so at Finn for what he'd put her through. He didn't care about sex without strings - hell, that was what he was known for - but when it came to Clarke... it made his blood boil. He wanted to protect her from assholes like Finn. "I don't think you should go looking for her, though." Bellamy added. "Y'know."

Finn stopped and looked him straight in the eye. "What do you mean?" He asked. Bellamy studied Finn's expression but only saw what looked to be genuine confusion. _Dense as a log,_ he thought.

"I don't think she wants to see you right now, after what you did." He jerked his chin towards one of the closer tents with an aggravated look, hoping to dismiss the topic. "Get Jenna or one of the other girls to take a look. They know basic first aid. If it's something worse, they'll report back, and we'll decided what to do from there."

Finn briefly glanced across the camp but focused back on Bellamy, eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about, Bellamy?"

Bellamy pressed his lips into a line, regretting having spoken. The last thing he'd wanted to do was get into some shitty conversation with the guy defending himself for his actions. And it definitely wasn't his place to talk about Clarke like he knew what she was feeling. He didn't. He just wanted Finn to go back to whatever the hell he did all day and leave him to his own business of prepping for winter. He kicked at the frozen dirt and sighed.

"I'm serious." Finn crossed his arms and frowned. "What do you think I did? What does _she_ think I did?"

"Look, man." Bellamy said, a hint of warning in his voice. "That's between you and her. I just think you should give her some space right now."

Finn ignored him and took a step closer, feigning bravado. "Stop lying to me."

"I'm not lying." Bellamy growled back, less than a foot between them. He dug his nails into his palm. "Don't talk to me like you have a leg to stand on, either. We're not friends. Go tend to the wounded - I have a lot of work to do," he said. "And you're keeping me from it."

Spacewalker deflated a little and Bellamy was about to take that as an opportunity to leave, when Finn suddenly rushed closer.

"Since when are you Clarke's keeper, anyways?" He said, stabbing a finger at Bellamy's chest. "What, you get stuck in a hatch for a night and suddenly you own her? Know what's best for her?" Bellamy clenched his jaw. "Whatever you think I did and are looking at me like I'm a piece of garbage for, I can guarantee you're wrong. I'd never hurt her."

Bellamy looked at him in disbelief and felt his insides churn. "I'm not getting into this." He shook his head and started walking away, irate. The idiot didn't even have a clue. And somehow, he was getting dragged into emotional bullshit he had nothing to do with. The next time he saw Clarke, he'd have two things to discuss with her. The previous night, and why her dickwad of a boyfriend kept getting into his face.

"I'm talking to you, Bellamy!" Finn yelled, grabbing Bellamy's shoulder and yanking him around. He spat through clenched teeth. "What. The Hell. Did. I. Do?"

"You know damn well!" Bellamy shoved him backwards with force, causing Finn to stumble. "She saw the aftermath of you and your girlfriend's night in one of the shelters. Don't fake righteousness and pretend to care for her when you don't give a shit about anyone but yourself."

"I haven't been down there in days!" Finn shouted back, fists balling. He stared Bellamy down while seething. "And why the hell do you care so much? You like her or something?"

"Maybe I do!" Bellamy shouted back, angry. He didn't even care. "You have a problem with it?"

"I do, actually." Finn spat. He took a step forward and shoved Bellamy back, hard. "There's no way I'd let her get with someone like you."

That was it. Bellamy threw himself at Finn and felt a pain in his stomach as they crashed to the ground, head first. Finn let out a grunt and rolled so that he slammed Bellamy into the dirt, raising his fist above his head. Bellamy managed to avoid the punch by rolling left, springing to his feet and thrusting a knee into Finn's abdomen. The guy swore and stumbled upright, making a move but being too unsteady. Bellamy deeked out of his way, grabbed him from behind, and slammed his fist into Finn's jaw with a crack. The guy dropped to the ground, groaning.

Bellamy shook out his fist, breathing heavily. There was blood smeared across his knuckles and he noticed Finn holding his nose, red gushing through his fingers. Alright. Probably broke his nose.

He rubbed his bruised hand and took his eyes off Finn for a brief second, wondering why he'd snapped, when the guy took the opportunity to throw himself into Bellamy and send them both crashing down once more. Bellamy tried to wrestle free but couldn't avoid the punch to his face, hitting him square in the temple.

_Ugh._ Bellamy pressed a palm to his eye and shoved Finn off with the other hand, panting. _Bastard._ He was just about to take another knock at him when suddenly, he felt a pair of arms yank him backwards.

"Calm down!" Miller shouted, hauling him away from Finn, who was being dragged in the opposite direction. Bellamy shrugged him off and cursed.

"What the hell are you doing?" He heard Raven yelling at - what was he, her boyfriend? - who rubbed his nose and spat a lump of blood into the ground. "You trying to break something?"

"He started it." Finn muttered, glaring in Bellamy's direction.

Bellamy rolled his eyes and said nothing, then pushed Miller out of the way and began heading for the forest. He _had_ started it, but with good reason. Finn deserved it. That asshole had been in his face since day one and hurting Clarke was the last straw. He didn't even care that he'd admittedly to maybe feeling something for the princess. Or that she'd tried to use him to get over that asshole. It had felt good ripping into Finn and he didn't regret it. Except maybe losing his temper in front of the whole camp and making an ass out of himself.

He walked for about ten minutes, oblivious to where he was heading, when he almost ran smack into Octavia.

"O?" He blinked, confused. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"Bellamy!" She shouted, seeming out of breath. It was only when he actually studied her did he notice her wild hair and even wilder eyes. She'd been running. "Oh, thank god, Bellamy. Clarke's been taken!"

"What?" Bellamy froze. Something hitched in his chest as his pulse accelerated.

"The Mountain Men." Octavia leaned over and rested her elbows on her knees, panting. Her voice shook. "They came too quickly, I- I couldn't do anything. They had smoke and red lasers and these horrible sounding devices and they just took them all. They couldn't fight, they just went down like bricks. And the mountain men.. god, they were like something from those horror stories mom used to tell us. You couldn't see their faces." She cringed. "They never saw me so I ran. I couldn't do anything to help them."

"O, slow down." Bellamy grabbed Octavia by the shoulders and crouched so they were at eye level. Fear resonated in her gaze and he couldn't help feeling panicked as well. "Tell me what happened, from the beginning. What were you doing in the woods?"

"I-" His sister bit her lip and shook her head. "No one was doing much in the camp, so I wanted to take a look around, see if there were any more hatches, y'know, like the one you said Clarke showed you." Her face reddened, probably from the strain of sprinting. "There's one a few miles from here, to the west. I was only in there for a few minutes when I heard them come."

"And Clarke?" Bellamy asked quickly, trying to ignore the fact that his sister had been wandering the woods, unprotected, almost in grounder territory. "She was with you?"

Octavia shook her head. "No, I don't know why she was there. But she was with Monty, I think, and a few others." Bellamy grit his teeth. So they'd been ambushed. "They had these rods... they made a horrible sound, like a high pitched frequency." Octavia winced and rubbed at her ears. "And gas, with some kind of nerve chemical. It didn't make you cough, just... fall. I was knocked down, too, from more than ten meters away. The rest of them didn't stand a chance. They dropped like rocks."

Bellamy ran his hand through his hair and let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "And you're sure it wasn't grounders?" He asked. It made far more sense for the grounders to have devised a quick retaliation in attempt to catch the teens off guard. Not some unknown men appearing from the mountain.

"They were Mountain Men, Bell." Octavia said, looking him straight in the eye. "I know it. They were dressed in white and knew exactly what they were doing. This wasn't some blitz attack out of revenge; this was a preempted strike. They got Clarke and the others and left as quickly as they came. No negotiations, no demand as to where our camp was, nothing." She inhaled shakily. "I wanted to help." Octavia wavered. "I wanted to... but they fell so fast... and I couldn't move, and..."

"There's nothing you could've done." Bellamy assured, standing straight. He glanced behind him and wondered how quick he could assemble a team of men. "We'll head back to camp and go after them as soon as possible. Do you have any idea where-" He paused, an odd expression crossing his face. "Hold on, O. You called them Mountain Men?"

She nodded quietly.

"I thought you meant men who'd come from the mountain." He studied her expression slowly. Something was off. "But Mountain Men... that's a name. Given to them by someone."

Octavia cringed. "Yeah, I-"

"And if no one had ever seen them before, they wouldn't have a name." He stated. "Who's been telling you about them? How did you know who they were?"

He felt a sudden surge of anger as guilt spread across his sister's face. That was answer enough. She opened and closed her mouth a few times before narrowing her eyes and crossing her arms defiantly. "I don't remember."

Bellamy clenched his jaw. "You don't _remember?_"

Octavia glared back and nodded. The two siblings stood facing each for a few moments before she tilted her head towards camp. "Don't you think we inform the others? The longer we wait, the further away they get."

He looked at her a second longer before turning away and uttering agreement. She was hiding something from him, something she knew he wouldn't like, not in the least. Something he'd probably have to beat someone's face in for. And as much as he wanted to pry it from her stubborn little head, he knew that arguing wouldn't help Clarke and the others right now. It didn't matter how she'd known about the Mountain Men; she was probably right, and if so, they'd all be venturing into unknown territory. So he needed his best men prepped and ready for combat, and he need them _fast._

"This isn't over, O." Bellamy stated, breaking into a run beside her. "Don't think I'm going to forget."

Octavia sighed.

"I wish you would, bro." She muttered to herself, almost inaudibly. "I really wish you would."

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More to be posted soon! Since it's been a while since it's last update, the story may stray a bit from the canon plot, so hopefully that doesn't bother anyone too much. Thank you!


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